


love, i have wounds only you can mend

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Guardian Angel AU, cs au week, you can only think killian is gonna self loathe like hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decade of not committing a single crime is impressive, but not when he’s centuries years old. A decade is enough for him to fall back into the darkness, however, when the council provides him a chance to redeem himself by being a guardian angel, he cannot possibly deny...especially when his arse of a brother is one himself. His first assignment? Emma Swan, single mother with a rusty past of her own.</p><p>[abandoned.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just in time for au week! i still have lots to write for other things, like across the sea, but those will be done. mark my word, and if not, just drown me for making promises i cannot keep. anyway, i hope you guys like this!! plenty of me listening to can't pretend by tom odell...just so you know. chapters will also grow in length over time.

Being reunited with his brother is something he could have never imagined. Killian Jones is no hero, not like his brother. He hates himself more than anything in the world, hates that he’s done the world plenty of bad deeds, hates that he’s lost people he cared deeply for, hates that he’s still bloody _alive_ after everything bit of pain he’s suffered along the way. He’s the last one on the list to be considered someone of perfection. He’s a man full of pain and old pent up anger that’s been seeping out of his pores ever since he lost a certain woman. Killian has been lost since that moment of his life, and that’s...it’s been _ages_.

 

Yet, the Council has given him another shot at things. He is a sinner, a man of a million (billions, trillions) sins, yet they’re giving him a chance to prove himself worthy of redemption.

 

He hasn’t committed a crime for over a decade now, but that’s nearly the same thing as saying he hasn’t aged for the last decade (or for a good century), either. Two entirely different things, two entirely different meanings, but he is completely and utterly serious on both counts.

 

Liam, though. Liam has been a saint since the day he was born, a man who’s been a hero in many people’s lives, a man who’s of good form and every drop of honour there is on planet earth and the heavens combined.

 

Killian is painted black as the devil, heart tainted with old revenge and darkness, while Liam is the epitome of an angel, which really, he _is_. Guardian Angel, that is, but he’s up there on the list to be one of the most renowned Guardian Angels there are, and that’s out of a lot of men and women doing their jobs.

 

Guardian Angels, though. Who originally thought _that_ was a thing? It is, fortunately for him, and it seems like he’s being saved though he’s technically not supposed to be saved. He figures he should thank the Council for putting this faith in him, but it’s a whole lot of faith that he needs to shoulder, and that’s direct pressure on him. He’s been a sinner most of his life, lost his way from Liam and then from the woman he once loved (he _still_ loves her, an aching gape in his heart that still loves her), so he really shouldn’t be offered such an opportunity, yet here he is.

 

Throwing his head back on his pillow as he stares up at the ceiling, he knows he’s being summoned up above. There’s a voice in his head and a tug from his guts telling him that there’s no time to be staying about on earth when he’s being called for.

 

In a flash of a second, here’s there, all bright white light compared to the room he had just been in, which was just dark and full of heavy air around him from his constant thinking.

 

“Brother,” he grumbles, “why’re you calling for me?”

 

Liam smiles and claps him on the shoulder. “You’re getting a job today, of course.”

 

Instead of being enthusiastic about it, he sighs and looks down before he raises his gaze back up to lock with his older brother. There’s so much hope and love in his brother’s eyes, it’s almost unbelievable. How he’s able to love _him_ is a mystery he’ll never solve. “A job, how fantastic. Am I cleaning the loo?”

 

Instead of laughing, Liam scowls and slaps his back. Killian rubs his back as Liam begins to speak, “No, you buggering idiot, you’re being assigned your first human today.”

 

Quirking an eyebrow, he narrows his eyes at his brother and shakes his head. “I’m hardly fit to see over someone.” Killian’s voice is quiet, condescending on himself. He’s full of self-loathe and hate, he knows, but that’s just something he’s learned to handle on his own.

 

He sighs. “You’ve not even had proper experience yet and you’re judging yourself that harshly.” Liam shakes his head and throws his arm over Killian’s shoulders. “Come on, Killian, you’ve been forgiven already -”

 

“I’ve been forgiven by this _Council_ for what reasons, Liam? Because I haven’t committed a crime since ten years ago?”

 

“No, not necessarily,” Liam sighs, “but you’re being given such an opportunity, you should take ahold of it, alright? Perhaps you’ll enjoy the job. Being a guardian angel isn’t all that bad once you’ve gotten the hang of it. No intimate attachment, no forcing them to do certain things...and a couple other rules you’ve ought to follow. One of the Council members will handle explaining all that in more detail.”

 

 _Rules_. He’d scoff aloud if he could, but he’s putting his brother through enough -

 

_“Always need dear old big brother to take care of you?”_

 

_The blood in his veins burn as he feels the insult like another slap to his face and a kick to his shin. He stands up in a rush of rage before a hand is on his chest and pushing him back._

 

_“Killian, stop it,” Liam demands. It’s with that brotherly tone of his that gets him to sit back down with nothing but a scowl on Killian’s face, his eyes sharp as he stares down the man who often makes fun of him._

 

\- Killian knows better. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, “just...let’s get it over with.”

 

Just as he’s about to turn and go, his brother’s grip is on his wrist. “Wait,” Liam starts, “just know that whoever you’re supposed to be protecting? It’s long-term, little brother, not something you can slack on or drop, not unless the council decides otherwise.”

 

Killian clenches his jaw but forces a smile and nods. At the least he can believe in his brother and let him have a younger sibling who’s worthy enough of his love and care (not that he’ll ever be that brother, not when he’s so troublesome). “Aye, I know. I listened a bit when I first came here, you know.”

 

“A bit my arse,” his brother mutters.

 

He imagines he doesn’t hear that, but a smile, more genuine this time around, is on his face as he closes his eyes.

 

&&.

 

“Her name is Emma Swan.”

 

Killian tilts his head to the side, accompanying that with a quirk of his brow as he listens to the Council member in front of him speak. “Emma...Swan. Alright.” He simply nods and lets himself remember that name; it rolls off his tongue easily enough and it sounds interesting. He’s doing this for his brother and though he should be doing it for himself, he knows that can’t be the case. Killian is a mess.

 

Liam has already long left to go deal with his protégé. That’s what they’re called. Those under the protection of a guardian angel are protégés. And people like Liam and himself? Guardian Angels.

 

“Your work is rather cut for you,” he says, “in one way or another. You live in Boston, right?”

 

He nods.

 

“So does she, but, she’s a little different from any of the others we’ve assigned before.” The Council man paces back and forth. “She’s...troubled.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Well, she used to be, but not so much now. Her previous GA ditched her rather abruptly, but he’s been condemned to living his mortal life on earth, never to be seen again, so he’s of little concern now.”

 

Frankly, Killian almost wants to laugh. Being condemned to living a mortal life on earth? That doesn’t sound much like a punishment, but he holds back from making any snarky remarks that could risk his job here. Liam is proud, Liam needs to see that his younger brother is at least _trying_.

 

“That’s a piss-poor job of being a guardian angel. Did he have any proper reason for leaving?”

 

“No,” the man answers, his tone somewhat disgusted with Killian’s diction, “but that’s irrelevant. What _is_ relevant, however, is you learning about her and doing your job better than the man before you.”

 

“I’m sure I can do a far better job by not fleeing unceremoniously,” he mutters.

 

“Silence, Jones.”

 

Killian almost winces at that command. He’s not used to being bossed around again. He used to. He was always bossed around, especially during his childhood and teenage years, and almost to when he was an adult, but then he was _free_ and did all the things he ever wanted to, and even things he didn’t consciously _want_ to do. “My apologies, sir,” he mumbles.

 

The Council spokesperson clears his throat before clapping his hands. “She is an orphan, you see,” the man begins, “quite a rascal from the moment she managed to escape out of the foster system she was in. Was thrown home to home, never quite fit in anywhere she went so she decided to go for surviving on her own.” Killian feels like this almost hits too close to home in a way. “She’s had it rather rough. She stole and she ran, a rinse and repeat cycle, until the day she had gotten into something else a bit too deep. All you need to know is that she’s been in prison before, but not because she was guilty; no, she was convicted falsely because someone betrayed her.”

 

He can’t help but ask, “By who?”

 

“None of that matters,” is the response he gets. “Emma has not had a good childhood. She’s twenty-eight now and she’s a bail bondsperson. Do you know what that is?”

 

“Aye,” he answers with a curt nod, “I do.” He’s been alive for a long, long time. He knows plenty.

 

“I can spare those details, then. Anyway, you can perhaps tell _why_ she’s had such a bad past -”

 

“Her supposed guardian angel wasn’t much of one, clearly.”

 

“No, he wasn’t. You were always wise, much like your brother.”

 

“My brother is...a far better man than I am,” he whispers, breaking eye contact with the man and looking down at the ground while his jaw ticks on and off. “Let’s not bring him into this.”

 

The man clears his throat. “Actually, I sort of do need to discuss him with you. Nothing bad, of course.” He smiles and walks up to Killian. “The Council is rather forgiving as you know. I will admit, this task isn’t an easy one, not with this Swan girl. She’s not trusting. She’s stubborn, she’s headstrong, and she’s...quite guarded in general. But that does _not_ mean you grow attached to her, do you understand? And do not do the same with her son.”

 

Her _son_? The man did not mention a son until now. Killian, for that moment, thinks back to his love, of his dreams, with her, to have children of their own, at least until all those dreams failed to come true because she was lost to him. He feels that ache in his heart again, the same one from earlier, before he snaps out of his thoughts.

 

“Did you hear me, boy?”

 

Killian swallows. “Yes,” he replies.

 

The Council member grunts in acknowledgement. “Your job is to make sure she considers making the right choices for herself. We do not associate ourselves with them beyond our jobs. Be her friend, if you will, but anything _beyond_ that is not tolerated amongst our type according to the laws here. They are human beings, we are guardian angels. There’s a distinct difference. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” he says again, raising his chin just a little bit before he lowers it back down. “I understand.”

 

The man smiles. “Good, good,” he breathes out, “well, you’ve ought to stand in front of the Council and swear an oath now.”

 

“I reckon it’s mandatory for someone like me?”

 

“It’s mandatory for everyone being assigned to a new protégé, Jones,” he corrects.

 

If he wasn’t told that, he would’ve believed it’s because he doesn’t have such a clean track record from his history. Ten years of having laid down...it doesn’t guarantee anything in particular. He’s not sure how much he’s trusted here, actually, beyond his own brother, of course. Though they’ve done nothing but give him reasons to trust the Council, as odd as their decision as been, so he’s decided to question less and just accept. Killian’s sure he won’t ever settle with that floating question in his head to why they’re putting so much faith in him, especially with this woman, but he supposes he’s ought to follow along and do the job he’s been told to do.

 

If he doesn’t, he might as well just get a ten hour lecture from his brother and be thrown down to earth along with the previous guardian angel of Emma Swan. Killian wonder how her son is, if she’s anything like him, or perhaps he’ll be more like Liam. Either way, it doesn’t matter. They’re not going to go beyond friends, and he doesn’t even think he’ll jump the line past being acquaintances. From what he’s learned, they have powers. Guardian angels, they can do things like stay invisible - bloody powers and magic. If her senses are sharp enough, then maybe she can sense an overlooking presence.

 

Killian, he will do what he can. He will bring pride, or at least, enough pride, to the Brothers Jones. He’s been enough of a failure and he - maybe just a little bit, or maybe a lot - wants to be a bit more than that for once in his life. He wants to be...a better man, somehow. Though he knows that’s far too difficult. His brother has set the bar too high for him to ever reach, and as hard as he’ll try, he’ll only ever fail.

 

He’ll try, though. That’s what matters, right?

 

“So, I figure that we’ve little time to waste and I need to get going with this oath, don’t I?” Killian questions, pursing his lips and raising both his eyebrows.

 

“Smart boy.”

 

 _Boy. Boy. Boy._ He’s not a boy, he hates being called that, but he supposes he can endure it a while longer.

 

( _“Drunk boy over here’s gotten his head over his own tail!”_

 

_“Come on, boy, work faster!”_

 

 _“Boy...you’re nothing like your brother.”_ )

 

Though, the life of a guardian angel is perpetual and all, so he’ll need to endure it for the rest of his life, assuming he manages to last that long doing his job up here. A lot of faith to burden, indeed.

 

&&.

 

The oath takes him a few minutes to swear to, but it’s also ridiculously lengthy and he doesn’t pay attention about half of what’s being told of him. All he knows is that he’s relatively (surprisingly) excited, in one way, to be meeting his protégé, but he’s also not at the same time because that means he’ll have responsibilities to take care of, and he can’t guarantee how well of a job he can do. He leaves the large building behind him, looking around and sighing.

 

Everything is so obnoxiously bright and he’s not all too fond over the light given he’s been sitting in the darkness for many years, but he’s going to need to get used to it. Somehow. He’s no vampire and the light doesn’t burn him, but the light _does_ make him want grab a baseball cap and wear it so he can at least shade his face from the light. He’s not quite sure how everyone else manages to not blind themselves.

 

(Hyperbolic as usual, but it’s too bright for _his_ taste.)

 

Killian rubs his forehead, his fingers pressing into his temple as he sighs. When he looks up, there’s nothing much to look up to. It’s as far as it’ll go where he is. But within a blink of an eye, he’s back to where he came from, back down in his apartment in Boston, the blinds shut closed.

 

He’s rich ( _angel_ compensation), he can afford better than this, but he doesn’t really want anything as luxurious as a humongous mansion.

 

With a glance at the door that’s hanging partially open, he walks towards it and tugs it open, his steps taking him to the washroom. Flicking the lights on, he squints his eyes for a moment before they adjust, and he leans over the counter, turning the sink on. Cold water. He takes a handful of cold water and splashes his face with it, scrubbing his face from top to bottom as well before raising his head and staring at himself in the mirror.

 

 _Get it together, Jones, this is just another human being_ , he thinks to himself, clenching his jaws. There are bags under his eyes, though they’re not too visible. _She doesn’t sound like a terrible person. Single mom, working an interesting job, and has a tough and nasty past._ Well, it’s not as dirty as _his_ own past.

 

His hand tightens on the edge of the counter, water dripping off his face before he splashes his face a second time. After a few more scrubs, he shuts the tap off and extends his arm to the side, grabbing the closest towel he manages to touch and dries his face off. Heaving a heavy sigh, he shoves the towel back on the hanger before leaving the washroom, his hand slapping the switch to turn off the lights on his way out. The door is haphazardly shut on his way out as he drags himself toward the kitchen, opening one of his cupboards and taking out a tumbler and a bottle of rum.

 

It’s a habit that never dies on his end. Rum is his go-to drink, mostly for if he wants to forget things for the night or because he’s got nothing else around to satisfy his thirst. He knows that he’ll have to sober up, especially since he now has responsibilities to be taking seriously. A person who he’s got to look over, a woman who’s never had the pleasure of having a proper guardian angel. He feels sorry for her, but pity is not something that often works out well, he’s aware. He hates being pitied by others, so the feeling must be mutual to some sense.

 

(Look at _him_ making connections with a woman he hasn’t even met yet.)

 

Uncorking the bottle, he pours himself a drink that takes up half of the tumbler before putting the cap back on and pushing the bottle further into the counter. He turns around and leans his back on the edge of the marble counter, ankles crossed at his feet while he takes a sip of the rum. The familiar burn runs down his throat, but he hardly cares. The burn is the attraction - the absolute best part.

 

A million thoughts run through his mind. He thinks of how he should be thankful of what chances he’s been given, thinks that he should care deeply for this woman he’s going to be taking care of starting tomorrow morning (no _attachments_ , he knows).

 

Killian stares out past the kitchen counter and toward the window at the end of the living room, the light peeking in through the curtains. His finger traces the rim of his glass and he sighs.

 

The life of a guardian angel seems to be easy but hard. He is a magical being, he can have everything he wants so long as he does things for the good. He hasn’t done any of that, though. Killian has been brooding since he had been taken in by the Council. He’s having the thought that perhaps the council was convinced by his brother...but he doesn’t want to think about it. Killian groans loudly to himself and then downs the rest of his drink, grimacing as he feels the burn heavier than before.

 

He turns and shuffles his feet over a couple of steps, placing the glass in his sink. _I’ll wash it out later_ , he thinks.

 

Tomorrow, he will deal with the questions. Tomorrow, he will meet Emma Swan, and then tomorrow, he will begin watching over her and her boy.

 

A jittery feeling settles in his stomach as he heads back down the hallway toward his bedroom, falling into bed with a little _thump_ , the mattress bouncing along with his weight. And so there he goes, back to where he had been from earlier, staring up at the ceiling in darkness while a tornado of thoughts breaks past the last of his stubborn barriers and bothers him for the rest of the evening.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disregarding this chapter, i’m going to update this fic once a week (hopefully) on wednesdays! i might miss a day or two here and there, but i’ll try my hardest to keep to schedule. since i’m updating once today, there will not be an update the coming wednesday. 
> 
> beta'd by @cutieodonoghue on tumblr (aka colormyheartred).

Soundproofing - 100% necessary.

 

Glancing around his room, he sits up and yawns, squeezing his eyes shut while he does so before opening them up again. Sparing a glance toward the digital clock on his nightstand, he rubs a hand over his face before untangling the sheets from himself. There’s a whole lot of obnoxious noise outside, but he can’t come to figure out what the hell is going on. It’s too early.

 

(Actually, it’s about 11:30AM, but he’s complaining because as much as he once used to wake up at the crack of dawn, he’s taken sleeping in as a luxury he’ll never give up on.)

 

Killian shuffles a couple of steps over, cursing to himself when he runs into the edge of his bed. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, but he still feels the impact. Guardian angel powers are weird. He doesn’t understand them all that much, but he’s growing a bit used to it. He can’t feel any sort of physical pain, which is a good thing, he guesses.

 

He felt pain _before_ though. Before being an angel, one of the many complications of the world he’s apart of that just doesn’t make logical sense.

 

He shoves two fingers into a crack of his blinds and simultaneously pushes up and down, peeking out the window to the bottom of the apartment. There’s a truck that seems to be being unloaded. _New resident?_ Killian sighs and pulls his hand away and turns around, running one hand through his hair as he walks toward the door. Pulling it open, he heads to the washroom, takes a rather quick, but refreshing shower, cleans himself up elsewise, and grabs his keys.

 

Jingling them around, he grumbles something to himself before he heads down the stairs. Luckily, living on the sixth floor isn’t all that much trouble. Elevators are something he doesn’t really want to wait for, and he figures since there’s moving, the things are likely out of service. Just as he happens to push past the front foyer, a boy crashes into him and he flinches back, narrowing his eyes. He’s not very tall, perhaps no older than ten, brown hair, and clearly energetic. Reminds him much about himself at a younger age, except...well, not shoved into servitude.

 

“Woah there, Henry, watch where you’re going.”

 

Raising his head, his eyes meet a blonde woman. She’s wearing a red leather jacket, her hair in curls, flowing past her shoulders. She is...beautiful. He internally berates himself for even thinking that.

 

“Sorry, Mom,” the boy - Henry - apologizes. “Uhm. Sorry, Mr…”

 

“Jones,” Killian supplies with a nod. “Killian Jones.”

 

This is the first real interaction with other humans since the last few weeks. Other days have just been him hanging in a bar, but he hasn’t really talked to anyone.

 

“Sorry, Mr. Jones!” Henry exclaims.

 

“It’s quite alright, lad.” Killian manages to smile at the boy before looking back at the child’s mother. “I reckon you’re the new neighbours. I’ve not seen either of your faces around here.”

 

She nods, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Yeah, we’re...uh, new. Just us two on a little adventure.”

 

Suddenly, his mind _clicks_. Is this Emma Swan? He hadn’t been told her son’s name, but the descriptions all fit. Blonde, guarded, single mom…Though, to be fair, that could be _anyone_ in this bloody city. He’s got to go meet Emma Swan, but he can’t do so if he’s being held up here.

 

“Well, I happen to live on the sixth floor if you ever need anything. Room 606.”

 

“Oh. Thanks for your offer, Mr. Jones.”

 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Just call me Killian, lass. No need for formalities between us adults.”

 

&&.

 

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

 

The moment he goes outside and goes on a bit of a ‘morning walk’, he takes a turn to go back into his apartment through the back entrance. Not that it really matters. Once he’s inside, he thinks of this Emma Swan.

 

Killian dreams of her appearance, the type of person she is, all the details he _does_ know.

 

And then he’s sent back to the woman he _just_ bloody met. She _is_ Emma Swan, and that boy _is_ her only son.

 

“Bloody buggering hell,” he whispers under his breath. Though, she can’t hear him. For all she knows...well, actually, she knows nothing. He can scream and shout all he wants, but she won’t hear anything. Him breaking something? Well, that’s another situation, but typically he can pass through most objects (after a lot of trial and error to get used to everything different).

 

“Emma Swan. What a wonderful surprise,” he mumbles, watching her push her son into the apartment and telling him to go start unpacking some of his stuff in his room.

 

His first day on the job and he’s already been a moron. He walks right past her and her son and doesn’t even make the complete connection. Of course, he had that thought earlier, but here he is, standing in her living room, that’s actually rather empty. There’s not many boxes laying around and he wonders if they own much. He hadn’t spared a glance to the rented truck earlier.

 

He roams the place until he stops at a door which seems to be Henry’s bedroom. The boy is scratching his head, sitting in front of one of his few brown cardboard boxes, pulling certain things out and putting some things back in. Killian unexpectedly smiles...though it doesn’t take long before he flattens his smile back into a straight line, turning around when he hears footsteps.

 

It’s odd to be able to _be_ there but also _not be_ there simultaneously.

 

He’s glad he’s managed to control his powers. They’re not so difficult, after all. It’s definitely easier than wreaking havoc the long way by actually _doing_ things. Here, with just a flick of his wrist or merely the thought, is enough to complete tasks of his desire.

 

Going between two different dimensions - heavens and earth, what a privilege - and making himself capable of watching over as an actual _angel_ while being fully human as another possibility, is a lot of power to hold in his hands (he’s an _angel_ , undeserving, sure, but an _angel_ and angels have _magic_ ). It does make his job easier, though, to watch over them without being seen. But, of course, he’s ought to establish a relationship somehow, which requires him interacting properly, which he’s already started...sort of.

 

Killian glances around himself, taking in that their apartment is pretty much the same formatting as his. Open space from living to kitchen room, hallway down to the washroom and bedrooms. Luckily, it won’t be an issue for him to be navigating through her apartment, not that he needs to given he can just think and things will happen for him.

 

Though, the more time he spends here, watching over her, the more he begins to realize that the job is rather boring. He doesn’t do much, not unless he sees that there’s something to warn her about, and even then, he can’t just straight-up tell her. He’s going to need to provide context, and considering how terrible her last guardian angel was, he’s not quite sure how he’ll be telling her that he’s a new replacement (or if he’ll tell her _at all_ ). And of course, no way is he going to tell her that he’s made of centuries of darkness, only recently become worthy enough to even have this new job.

 

After a while, deeming that both herself and the boy are perfectly fine, he goes back to his apartment. Unlocking his front door, he steps in and shuts it behind him before locking it again. It doesn’t really matter to him when there isn’t much he’s got to protect around here. He has all of his memoirs locked up somewhere safe in his room (invisible, that is - abuse of power, perhaps), so he doesn’t have to worry about something trying to rob anything.

 

Killian, although he hates to admit it, is rather sentimental. Most things he keeps are mostly things that he has left of his past that can remind him of the people he once used to keep in close contact with beyond his brother.

 

Lost love, old belongings...he always has something for that keepsake. Thing is, he doesn’t really go back often and look at them. It stirs too many emotions that need to be kept alone. All those feelings cannot be dusted off. Emotions like that are distractions and he can’t afford to be distracted nowadays.

 

Sinking onto the couch, he leans his head back and groans. If not his bed, then this couch. Both are rather comfortable and they’re his favourite spots to rest.

 

Killian’s begun to realize he’s ought to find himself something else to do besides laying around or watching over his protégé. Licking his lips, he stares at his blank television screen, seeing a faint reflection, though it’s too dark to tell anything else out. And, well, he stares for a few minutes, which lapses into an hour or two (how productive, he knows), before he closes his eyes and drifts off into sleep.

 

An abrupt knock at his door causes him to flash his eyes open, darting to the noise. He’s slept on for a few hours when he glances at the clock hanging on the wall.

 

Clenching his jaw, he senses the familiar - fresh - presence and knows it’s Emma. Sighing, he pushes himself up onto his feet and heads toward the front door, unlocking the lock and then tugging the door open. Back to putting his little act up all over again.

 

“Ah, hello to Henry’s mother.” Killian figures that since she never introduced herself, he’s best to not creep her out by suddenly knowing her name.

 

“Hi,” she says, “and I’m Emma Swan.”

 

“Emma Swan.” He nods with a small smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t happen to have any sugar around, do you?”

 

“Sugar?” He thinks for a moment. “Well, come on in. I’ll check for you.” Killian steps aside, waving his arm all dramatically as she steps in. She’s ditched the leather jacket and she’s just wearing a nice white sweater. He’s wearing all dark, on the other hand. “You know, if you just wanted to be in my presence -” he walks toward the kitchen, “- all you had to do was ask. Not use the ‘lend me some sugar, I’m your new neighbour’ act.”

 

Immediately, he hears a scoff. “Are you like this with all your new neighbours?”

 

Pulling a cupboard open, he looks past a few random bottles of things and chuckles to himself. “I’ve not had the pleasure of having many new neighbours, let alone someone of your age.” He pushes past a box of salt and finds the sugar. “So, no, not particularly. Though I’ve been told I _do_ happen to attract all the women.” It’s not a lie. The amount of times he’s been at a bar and had women staring at him left and right...that’s evidence enough.

 

“Well, aren’t you an interesting character?”

 

“Hmm…” He turns around after closing the cupboard behind him, glass of sugar in hand. “I suppose, if that’s how you want to describe me.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes, and then glances around his place. “Not to be...weird, or anything, but it’s real dark in here.”

 

“I was napping.” It isn’t much of an excuse given one can nap in the light, but...it’s the best explanation he can give.

 

“Oh...uhm...I didn’t wake you, did I?”

 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. I needed a wake-up call anyway, so I can thank you for that.” He offers her the sugar. “And here’s the sugar you need.”

 

Their fingers brush and he almost visibly clenches his jaw when he feels her skin against his. She smiles at him in thanks, brushing off their contact. “I better get going. I’ll return this later tonight, if you’re still awake.”

 

“It’s likely I will be,” he tells her with a nod. “Say hi to your lad for me.”

 

She nods. “Alright. Thanks again for the sugar,” she says once more before she pulls open the door and heads down the hall toward the elevator.

 

“Swan!” he calls out. “Wait. Uhm -” he knows the answers, but he’s got to play the act, that’s the harder part, “- what floor do you live on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Eleventh,” Emma responds, “room 1111.”

 

Well, that’s quite simple to remember had he not already known. “Okay, ah -” he nods at her and smiles once more for good measure, “- good to know. See you later.”

 

Killian shuts the door behind him and then leans against it. She’s...nice. She’s not that stubborn yet from what he can tell, but then again, he hasn’t made any moves on her let alone questioned or challenged her to invoke that type of reaction. For now, he hopes she can let him past those walls, though, because he can certainly see them. From the little subtle actions or the way she talks, he knows that she’s protecting herself and her kid.

 

Shaking his head out of it, he walks to the kitchen, in need of another glass of rum, and he forgets to lock the door. He turns his head and waves his hand, the lock falling into place, just as he reaches into the sink, rinsing out the glass and then placing it down on the counter, opening the same cupboard as earlier and tugging the bottle of rum out.

 

Until she returns with his sugar, assuming that she’s going to return it tonight, he can’t help but stay up, and rum can help him a bit with that.

 

Just as he lifts the glass to his mouth, it disappears and he groans. “Liam,” Killian whines, “I needed that.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” he responds. Killian hears the glass settle down on the counter. “You’ve no reason to be drinking at all. You’re not even stressed out yet.”

 

He huffs and shakes his head. “A little rum doesn’t hurt.”

 

“That’s not exactly _a little_ ,” Liam retorts, pointing at the full tumbler of rum. His brother crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side. “I know you prefer to have a drink when things get rough, but you’re not supposed to. You’re a guardian angel, Killian, you’ve ought to take all of this seriously. Not getting yourself hammered early into the night.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Killian concedes. His brother does have a fair point at that. “I’ll try and cut back on the rum. It’s just that...looking at her, I can see something. I can almost relate, but then I haven’t been around her enough to... _know_ anything, yet. She believes I’m her kind neighbour five floors down, not her guardian angel.”

 

“She’s not supposed to know. Not yet. Unless, if you don’t want to tell her.”

 

A decision he hasn’t really made up his mind on yet. “Aye, but...it’s rather hard to keep up an act around her. Or anyone, for that matter.”

 

Liam chuckles. “Then don’t keep up an act. If you don’t tell her about being a guardian angel but act the way you always do, then you’re fine, aren’t you?”

 

“You’re...right. As usual,” Killian grumbles.

 

In fact, he realizes he hasn’t been putting _too_ much of an act on at all. He’s mostly been acting as himself, save for the awkward moments and whatnot, but in general, he’s being himself. Killian isn’t acting as if he’s an entirely different person. All he has been doing is being kind and considerate while omitting the truth from her. That’s only a detail he can tell her later once he’s eased himself into her (and probably Henry’s) everyday life. If he chooses to, that is.

 

Sighing, he doesn’t even realize it when suddenly there’s some orange light shining in through his living room window.

 

“Why,” he starts, “in the bloody hell are you doing _that_?”

 

His brother glares at him. “Stop keeping yourself in the darkness, you git,” Liam scolds, taking on that overly-brotherly tone of his again. He walks back, standing in front of Killian, his own stubborn look on his face. Stubbornness runs through the Jones’ Brothers blood. “It certainly doesn’t hurt to have some light in your home.”

 

“This isn’t home.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then why -”

 

“You know, sometimes I really do wonder why I try to convince you of anything,” Liam mutters, shaking his head. His brother pokes at Killian’s chest, and Killian furrows his brows in confusion. “You’re better than this, brother. I know you are because that’s why you’re... _here_. I know I happen to tell you this a lot, but be proud. Mum would have been proud of us.”

 

Immediately, he softens at the mention of their mother. Their mother left all too early. Guardian angels and no pain his arse because the mention of certain things will hit close to home. Their father...well, that’s a completely different story to tell.

 

“Aye, she would have,” he quietly responds, eyes downcast as he dreams of his mother’s face. The problem is, he believes their mother would have be proud of his brother, not him. Killian’s reputation is nothing but darkness.

 

(Unfortunately, centuries of living means fading memories. Fading memories means the woman who took care of him for only his early childhood years is one of the few to first go.

 

And _God_ , does he miss his mother.)

 

&&.

 

The next time he’s up above, he’s given an order that bites at his skin.

 

He’s not allowed to tell her about who he is, or rather, _what_ he is (this is just a test, he can tell). The order is something he’d much rather not obey, but this is essentially an obligation. Killian has done terrible things in his life and he’s learned to not take certain risks anymore. It’s not to say he doesn’t take risks at all, but with this chance he’s been giving?

 

Not a moment to disobey, really.

 

It frustrates him, though. It really does. Killian doesn’t like to lie, has never enjoyed lying in the first place, but he has no other choice. He only lied back then to get what he wanted.

 

Omitting something doesn’t necessarily mean lying, right? He’ll just repeat that in his head over and over until he believes it. Sometimes, that’s just enough. Perhaps that repetition will convince him, and once he’s convinced, he’ll have no trouble of not telling Emma what type of person he really is.

 

Though, from what he’s gleamed at just the couple of glances at her and the little interaction he’s had with her, he has a solid feeling she certainly doesn’t like being lied to. At least he’s not manipulating her. He’s...manipulating the truth. They’re two entirely different things. It’s absolutely ridiculous, he thinks, to have to not tell her what he is. She seems like the woman to know the truth, but the moment he crosses a line of unacceptable behaviour, he knows he’s definitely - in a lack of better terms - royally screwed.

 

As if sleep isn’t already difficult for him to achieve, this leaves him laying in bed all night staring at the ceiling again. It’s not worth the hassle, not worth bashing his brains in for, yet he struggles to get that sleep because he’s so goddamn _frustrated_ with the Council. He knows he should be grateful, and to hell and back, he absolutely _is_ grateful, but the fact that he just has to keep up a façade of being a simple human being much like every other mortal on his planet is pointless. He doesn’t understand _why_. Whatever explanations the councilmember gives him are lacking logic, at least in his own humble opinion. It’s just that he hasn’t gone ahead and voiced said opinion, not wanting to risk losing this job of his. The one _Liam_ probably got him.

 

Killian rolls onto his side, staring at the red numbers on the digital clock. It’s far too early, or late, to be thinking like a madman. Even after all these years of time, he spends half of it thinking instead of doing more productive things with his life.

 

Of course, to be fair, he’s done plenty of things in his life. He’s lived for centuries, after all. He does suppose, if anything, that he’s glad he’s retained his youthful glow. Being devilishly handsome is something he does appreciate. He’s going to have to use those techniques on Emma...to get somewhat close to her. They’re only neighbours, hardly acquaintances, but it’s better than being complete strangers, and if he has to hit on her to get to a close enough point, then so be it. He’s always had a way with words.

 

Being charming isn’t a hard task for him -

 

The thought of flirting with her makes his stomach churn. He has a way with words and women, always has, actually, but this is more than that. It’s serious business. And not only that, but the entire idea makes him bitter. Things from his past makes him unsure about where he’s heading with his plan of his.

 

Inhaling one deep breath and then letting it out, he shakes his head and closes his eyes. Sleep has been troubling him enough. Killian lets the tension release from his body as he slides his arm beneath the pillow.

 

He’ll have more time to think later. For now, he needs to get some stupid sleep before he gets up in the morning grumpily and makes some new terrible impression on Emma.

 

(Assuming he’s going to end up talking to her, that is.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: happy wednesday! i am sticking the schedule like planned - hopefully will remain that way, at least. today, you get your dose of JONES BROTHERS PAST. that's right. i said it. go thank my bud, cutieodonoghue (on tumblr, or otherwise known as colormyheartred on ao3/ffnet) for the constant support and beta. :)

“I don’t have your worth ethic, brother,” Killian mutters, scrubbing at the deck of the ship. He’s been doing this all day. He’s tired, beyond exhausted, but he keeps pushing because he has to. It’s his job, and unless he wants to be kicked into the brig or stripped of tonight’s meal or next week’s pay, he can’t stop working. “I wish I did,” he mutters into the flask he lifts to his lips.

 

Liam sighs. “Don’t speak of yourself like that,” he says, scrubbing alongside him. His arms are just as grimy as his brother’s. “You’re your own person, little brother, take pride in that.”

 

“You know I look up to you.”

 

“But you aren’t _me_ ,” Liam responds. “Be yourself. Yes, I aim to be a role model, a man that you can aspire to be, but I certainly don’t want you to become any sort of copycat. That doesn’t make you _you_.” Liam has plenty of wise words up his sleeves. Killian’s not so optimistic and hopeful as he is. “Come on, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can rest.”

 

He puts the cork back onto his flask and gets back to it quickly.

 

Just as he’s almost done scrubbing the deck with maximum effort, or at least all the effort he can put into with his remaining energy, a bucket is kicked over and he raises his head sharply, noting that it’s Captain Silver. He’s a terrible captain if Killian’s being honest, but he can’t rebel against the man. He’s already known as the drunk but he’s also known as the one to do work as he’s told, so he’s valuable to the Captain. And if not tossing him off the ship and leaving him behind, it’d be death instead.

 

And considering that Killian wants to make things easier on Liam, to stop being such a bloody stupid burden, he tries not to pick fights.

 

“The sooner you get done, the sooner you can rest?” Captain Silver laughs. “Sorry, lads, seems you’ve missed a spot.”

 

“Leave us alone,” Liam says.

 

The Captain looks at the both of them, a smirk on his face that Killian really wants to punch off of him, but he doesn’t move, not yet. If anything, he’s not trying to get himself punished here...but the way he treats his older brother as if he’s _trash_ -

 

“Always need dear old big brother to take care of you?”

 

The blood in his veins burn as he feels the insult like another slap to his face and a kick to his shin. He stands up in a rush of rage before a hand is on his chest and pushing him back.

 

“Killian, stop it,” Liam demands. It’s with that brotherly tone of his that gets him to sit back down with nothing but a scowl on Killian’s face, his eyes sharp as he stares down the man who often makes fun of him.

 

His hands are curled into fists at his sides as he tries to relax. He’s not in the mood to start things, but there’s only so much he can take. Especially when it comes to making fun of his older brother because his older brother means everything to him and Liam is absolutely one of the best men he knows out there. He doesn’t deserve the foul treatment here.

 

And he, he feels absolutely _useless_. He can’t defend his brother. His blood boils far too easily and he’s only ever taken as the drunk and the gambler and the little boy who’s always defended by his older brother. He’s never been anything good. After the abandonment of their father he’s been a terrible mess. Killian hates being like so, but he doesn’t know what to do; how to make himself _better_ than what he actually is. He’s a failure unlike his brother, not a hero like he aspires to be. He wonders if he’ll ever even be _close_ to his brother’s level of heroism and good form.

 

“Get back to scrubbing, boys,” Captain Silver commands as he turns around to descend down the gangplank and back toward land.

 

Killian clenches his jaw multiple times, unable to suppress his anger any other way. Liam turns back and sighs, patting his shoulder. “Relax, Killian,” he mumbles, “let’s get back to work.”

 

“Why do we need to _answer_ to him, Liam?” He swallows thickly. “Can’t we just leave?”

 

“No,” he says, “not unless you want to be a beggar, little brother. We’re seeking honour, and if we must go through these hardships, we will. Alright?”

 

Instead of arguing any further with his brother, he just nods and reluctantly goes back to scrubbing the deck of the ship. He’s back where he first started.

 

&&.

 

After a bit of contemplation, he does something he doesn’t regret. Perhaps he should regret it after the trouble he has to go through and the trouble he gets _in_ to, but he doesn’t.

 

It’s early in the wee hours of the morning and he’s not supposed to be doing this, not unless he wants to be tossed off the side of the ship and screwed over, but he sneaks out of his cabin, the one he shares with Liam in a tiny room, two cots to sleep in that hardly keep them warm. When he first steps around, he’s already been on this ship for so long, serving as a slave, that he’s memorized parts that will squeak if he steps on it. So, he avoids all of that.

 

Killian peeks out, noticing that the deck is vacated for the night. He makes haste toward the mast, climbing it up, up, and up, to the crow’s nest. As much as he hates being a slave, he certainly loves the sea and the stars, and he _wants_ to sail freely one day. He glances around himself multiple times to make sure no one’s about to catch him and he would sigh in relief, but he’s not even that stupid to do that by this point.

 

The space is small for him, but he sits up there, making sure his head isn’t visible from someone below, as he stares up at the starry skies. The moon shines through a few clouds of their own and he manages to smile. Between the gentle rock of the ship and the view of the night sky from where he is, this is the life he wants to live...for the most part. Just take away the servitude and replace it with freedom and it’s perfect.

 

But he knows perfection doesn’t exist in his life beyond Liam. Perfection is just another ideal notion of his that he needs to stop dreaming about. Killian knows that all he can do is work, work, and _work_ , which won’t change. This appears to be his life.

 

Though, he figures that at some point, he’ll be thrown overboard considering he’s always had quite the temper compared to his older brother. Killian has always been far less controllable by anyone besides his elder sibling, and as much as he hates to admit it, he’s a troublesome boy who still holds a grudge against his father for leaving them so suddenly and shoving them into _this_ type of life. Had the man not have been so pathetic and left, he would have been able to live a more normal life of a boy instead of one that requires him to scrub the deck and obey the bloody orders of a man he doesn’t want to serve.

 

He wonders, on most occasions, how this crew even tolerates Captain Silver.

 

Killian dreams more of a mutiny. Mutiny can lead to their _freedom_ and -

 

“Killian? Killian, where the hell are you?”

 

The quiet hisses of his brother’s voice down below drift up to his ears and he closes his eyes, feeling the shame rise. He knows he shouldn’t be up here, let alone on deck at all. It puts him at risk, yes, but it puts his brother at further risk, too, and considering all that Liam’s already done for _him_ , the least he can do is not be an idiot younger brother. Knowing he can’t continue to do this, he decides to climb back down slowly, making sure he doesn’t miss a step and end his life a day, week, month, or year earlier than it should be.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters when he’s safely back on deck. “I just -”

 

“Wanted to get your arse thrown into the sea?”

 

Killian flinches a bit. Nineteen years of age and still being scolded by his older brother. “ _Sorry_...Liam, I won’t do it again.”

 

Liam sighs. “Like hell you’d make a promise like that,” he mumbles, his hand pushing him back down to their rooms. “Come on, before Silver or one of his crew catches us.”

 

They walk back to their room carefully and luckily for them, they don’t end up being caught. Killian hates himself more than anything in the world, hates that he can’t be more of a man like Liam - more heroic and strong. Or at the least, a better brother for him.

 

“If you’re going to do that again,” Liam starts, “do tell me next time. That way I can have some excuses lined up to save you from the brig.”

 

“I won’t do it again,” Killian says, “I promise you. I won’t. That was a mistake, I know.”

 

As bold as he can be on his own, he always falls behind Liam for defense. (He also always falls short on everything else, too.)

 

His brother sighs again, but nods. “Okay, but if it _does_ happen -” he settles back down into his cot, “- you know what to do.”

 

Killian knows what to do next time. He does. Though he’ll keep his promise...he’ll keep it because that’s what good form truly is.

 

&&.

 

He doesn’t end up getting all that much sleep as usual. First thing in the morning, he takes a swig of rum from his flask and realizes he’s running low on that poison he prefers to have. It keeps him going through the treacherous conditions they have to face under the blazing sun of a summer's’ day.

 

Liam is wrapping some extra rags around his wrist, knowing he’s going to be needing them. Their clothes are so evidently ruined and dirty, but laundry isn’t going to be done for a while, and they have last priority at the end.

 

“Liam, when are we ever going to get off this ship?”

 

“Soon, I hope,” he responds, raises his head to look at him.

 

“What do you mean?” Killian asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are we leaving?”

 

His brother shakes his head and sits up straighter. “I’ll tell you later tonight, but first, we’ve ought to work through the day.”

 

Groaning in disappointment over both his brother not telling him of these...secret plans, and the fact that they have work to do, he nods. “Okay,” he mutters, standing up and running a hand through his hair before he picks his flask up off his cot and shoves it inside his clothes where he can keep it safe.

 

“I promise I’ll tell you, little brother. Just be patient.” Liam pats him on the back. “You know what they say. Patience is a virtue.”

 

He wants to laugh out loud, but he shakes his head and trudges his way out of their little room, up to the main deck where the sun shines and the wind blows for a beautiful day, but is also another day that’s full of grime and disgusting hard work on repeat. It’s almost black and white now.

 

&&.

 

Their day is of the usual, except tonight they get their pay.

 

Of course he’s excited. For once, he’s not going to screw up and gamble away his money in his drunken stupor. Killian’s going to keep his pay in good hands this time. That’s what Liam wants and that’s what _he_ wants, so he’ll do it.

 

The sun has long set. He wipes the sweat off his face, but that just mixes in with the murky dirt on his forehead and cheeks anyway. He groans and reaches out for a cleaner cloth to wash and wipe down with. He glances out the small hole of a window in their tiny cabin, noting that it’s a full moon outside. Killian can taste the salt of his own sweat and though he’s been through worse before, it’s just nothing new to him by this point. Years and years of being nothing more than some slaves has rubbed off on him more than anything. Liam seems to be the one with all the perseverance and optimism.

 

“You asked me what’s going to happen,” Liam starts, “soon, we start a war. Well, ‘war’ may be pushing it, but more of a rebellion.”

 

He’s too confused. Killian blinks and shakes his head. “What? _Liam_ -”

 

“Don’t worry, little brother, everybody else that I’ve asked on this ship that works under Silver’s hands with us has agreed,” he explains. “The day you push your sailors too far is the day that mutiny begins.”

 

“But...Liam,” Killian stutters, “aren’t we - isn’t that, isn’t that bad form? To start mutiny?”

 

He’d thought of it earlier, when he was up in the crow’s nest, but hearing it now…

 

He may be younger, but the look on his brother’s face is easily deciphered. There’s a sense of shame, but he’s determined to follow through. His brother is just as stubborn as Killian himself, after all.

 

“Perhaps...but we’ve no choice, Killian. The man has pushed all of us too far, has treated us like rubbish. Once this is done, we’re free.” He walks up to Killian, his hands clasping around his shoulders. “We’re free!” he says in a whisper, yet shouting like tone. “We can leave here, we can serve for the King’s navy, you hear? Live like the honourable men we’ve always wanted to. We have the money to offer. We simply need to appeal before him and request of it.”

 

“I…” Trailing off, Killian knows his brother has a point. It takes him a few moments to compose himself, to attempt to think all of this through. He may be hot-headed and hate Silver, but he’s never gone so far to think of raising _mutiny_. Though it doesn’t take much to convince him. “Okay,” he huffs. “Okay, Liam,” he repeats with a nod. “There’s no one else I’d rather follow in this.”

 

Liam grins widely, one hand wrapping around Killian’s neck and pressing his forehead to his for a moment. “We’ll be free men once and for all, brother. Trust me.”

 

Those words sound like music to him, a promise that’ll be kept. _Freedom_ , he thinks. Something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. Not since what their pathetic father put them through.

 

&&.

 

It comes all too quickly. In fact, what happens doesn’t go according to the plan at _all_.

 

There’s a fleet of Navy ships sailing straight toward them. Canons go off before Killian can even comprehend what’s happening properly, and all Liam tells him is to run and hide.

 

And given the obedient little brother he is to his elder, he does exactly as he’s told. The ship rumbles from cannonfire, tilting and drifting on seas. There’s shouting and the heavy patter of footsteps bounding about up top. Killian is worried; more than concerned for his older brother. He feels pathetic hiding down here.

 

This is not the way of an honourable man. It’s not good form to back down from a fight. He hates the idea of not knowing whether Liam is okay or not. It makes him shiver, makes his heart already ache, at the idea of losing the closest person to him. The only person that he even cares about anymore.

 

By the time he tries to get back up onto deck, the lock is jammed on the hatch and he can’t get up. However, he soon realizes the lock isn’t jammed. It’s stuck because there are bodies piling on top of the hatch and he almost wants to _vomit_.

 

Of course he’s used to death by now considering the few that have been thrown overboard, but that’s different. For all he knows, his brother could be in this pile and he’s simply lost another person closest to him because he followed a stupid bloody order! His blood is boiling and there’s no other way to find a way up, so he’s stuck down here, where nobody remains but himself. Blood is being spilled above him, blood of the men he’s been working with, blood of Captain Silver, perhaps - not that he gives a damn about Silver - and blood, maybe, of his dear old brother.

 

Without his brother, he’s -

 

Killian is nothing.

 

He’s a drunk, he’s a boy without friends or family, he’s a lad that loses his temper and gets into trouble.

 

He is an _orphan_.

 

That realization makes him want to punch something, but he returns back to his cot in the cabins until it becomes unbearable of a weight to hold, moving over to Liam’s cot, curling around what remains of his brother (or so he thinks), and cries. If his brother is not alive, what’s left of him is all he has, even if it’s rags.

 

&&.

 

When he wakes, it’s a groggy mess. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. The tears have long dried since and he feels like utter shite.

 

Forcing himself to sit up, the rush of everything that happened yesterday comes back and he feels an overwhelming urge to go upside. Except, well, he’s absolutely scared to find out the outcome.

 

When he climbs out of the cot, he pushes the door open from his cabin, navigating his way up.

 

The smell of salt assaults him, along with the wind. When he’s above, he realizes there are few men left, and none are his brother. Silver isn’t even above anymore. Bodies have clearly been dumped into the open seas.

 

“Where the hell were you, Jones?”

 

He turns to the voice of one of his crewmates, Jonathan.

 

“Jon, I -”

 

Jonathan merely sighs and shakes his head. The crew is more forgiving than Silver himself, luckily. “I don’t know how else I’m going to tell you this,” the man mumbles, rubbing his forehead. “But, your brother -”

 

“He’s gone,” Killian says, forcing the words out even though he despises those words.

 

“Well, yes, but,” Jonathan quickly begins, “he’s been taken hostage by the Navy. He may as well still be alive -”

 

“But he’s _gone_.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“Silver’s been taken, too,” he says. “Apparently he’s been a wanted man for quite some time, evading all the royal guards and navy from his crimes. It was only a matter of time before he was caught. He’s going to be facing court justice and all of that.”

 

“And what of us?”

 

“We’re left to fend for ourselves,” Jonathan states. “What few of us remaining, that is.”

 

All of these words are just words to him now. Silver is gone, which is a plus, but so is his brother.

 

“Then why take hostages?” Killian asks, still confused. “If they wanted Silver, they could’ve easily gotten him without bloodshed and hostages, so why the _hell_ did they take hostages?” He’s losing his temper, he knows, but his brother means the world to him, _is_ his world, and losing him is like pulling the rug from under him. “My _brother_! The most honourable man I know, taken as a damned hostage?”

 

“Killian -”

 

“Leave me alone, Jonathan,” he dismisses, shaking his head and waving him off. “I...I need...time.”

 

&&.

 

The first real night, without a doubt, of knowing his brother is far away somewhere, makes it hard for him to sleep. He tosses and turns uncomfortably in bed, angry and frustrated. _Liam is still alive_ , he tells himself over and over, _all I need to do is find him. That’s what family does, right?_

 

He laughs a little to himself, gulping heavily. “I’ll find you, Liam,” he murmurs into the quiet cabin, the occasional creak of footsteps up top from the shifts of night guarding and sailing.

 

No one really knows what they’re doing on this ship. Without much of a crew beyond ten people and no captain to give orders, everybody is simply trying to find their way back to land. If they can dock, then they can resupply. They can find places to lay their heads more comfortably at night and then come to a decision about what to do. Or well, he thinks that’s what the remaining people plan.

 

After a fair bit of thought over the night, he knows what he’s going to do.

 

This crew is loyal, they really are, just not much to Silver. Most of them simply obeyed Silver for the pay. With the right Captain, they can be right on their way.

 

&&.

 

The remaining men rally well.

 

“I know you all don’t know my brother as well as I do,” he starts, “but he doesn’t deserve whatever the bloody court may serve him. We’ve all just been slaves, haven’t we? No more, aye?”

 

They nod.

 

Killian inhales a deep breath before continuing. “And no one else that was taken deserves it, right?”

 

“No,” Jonathan buds in, “none of them deserved it. Some were arses, but they were good men.”

 

He nods in agreement with a faint smile. It’s harder to smile when Liam’s not around. It’s harder to see the light. “Then we find them,” Killian says, “and we set them free. We’re all free already! We can do _more_. We’re not obeying Silver any further. I’m...hardly a candidate to Captain. I’m young. Inexperienced.” He swallows. “Is anybody willing to take up such a role?”

 

Everybody shares looks, heads turning and looking, eyes flitting from one face to another. No one volunteers.

 

“You should do it, then,” another man says. “That’s one way to gain experience, eh?”

 

“But -”

 

“Aye! The younger Jones can do it!”

 

“Yeah!” they all chant.

 

Before he knows it, he’s Captain Jones.

 

_Captain Jones_.

 

His brother deserves the title better than he, but he’s not here. There’s no other choice. By majority, he wins the spot.

 

He only has one goal, though, and it’s to save his brother and the others taken captive by the Navy. Killian’s not going to stop at any point and give up.

 

_Just you wait, Liam_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd and tired of life so mistakes are mine.

If being asked to babysit is already enough, he certainly dreads the idea of having to babysit for a couple of solid  _ hours _ . Killian is no babysitter. He’s not sure what young lads nowadays even like to do. Video games? Television dramas? Henry is ten, he knows that, but he probably doesn’t watch dramas. If anything, the lad probably watches cartoons of some sort. Lord if he knew considering the fact that being ten year of age centuries ago is fairly different than from what it is now.

 

Of course, this is merely his job and he should be doing it anyway, but he doesn’t exactly find the idea fond given his lack of understanding of youth children now. Being a guardian angel didn’t exactly prepare him for the entire ‘you’re going to be babysitting your protégé’s son, thank you very much.’ He loathes the entire idea, but Henry seems like a fine enough boy to babysit.

 

Or so Killian thinks.

 

Emma came to him earlier this morning at an ungodly hour (7:30AM is ungodly in his opinion) requesting for his assistance. A simple little favour, in her words, but he wasn’t that aware that a simple little favour implied taking care of her ten-year-old son. Though he supposes he can’t exactly say much about it. She’s new to this apartment and doesn’t know anybody else around her besides him (and it’s not like she has a designated babysitter). From what he can tell, she has an around the clock job which doesn’t make it easy for her to be around her son in the first place.

 

All the details he has given him is that there is apparently a party she has to attend according to her friend, and so since she can’t possibly worm her way out if it (like how she always does, according to what vague things he’s been told), she’s been thrown into socializing at a place that is full of supposed strangers.

 

Killian understands this for the most part. Small talk isn’t always small, he’s learned, as small talk is harder than ‘small.’

 

After a while of debating how exactly he’s going to entertain Emma’s boy, he comes up with an idea. If he can exhaust him, then he’ll go to bed early. That’s how it works, right? Killian remembers – dreads to remember, if anything – how he used to always want to go to bed early or catch a break after scrubbing the deck for hours on ends. He may not be putting Henry to any  _ work _ , per se, but he can certainly wear him out somehow.

 

For a moment he almost laughs out loud, in the quiet of his dim and lonely apartment, at the idea of him wearing a ten-year-old child out. He’s not certain how well that’s going to go, but to hell with it. Might as well give it a shot in the end.

 

The hours go by slowly leading up to his assigned time. He passes time by thinking about how he’ll particularly get to know Emma some more beyond just being her son’s temporary babysitter. Of course he knows he’s more than that, perhaps a distant friend or close acquaintance, but he needs to be more than that. Needs to know more about  _ her _ and  _ her _ life. It’s not like he makes it his job to watch over her 24/7 without doing anything else with his life (not that he has anything else to do).

 

By five, he’s standing in front of her door and knocking. He’s a tad early, but punctuality is a good thing. Frankly, it’s more of a habit of his, but Liam says it’s a better habit than many, and he supposes he’s right, much like every other time he’s been taught a lesson by his elder.

 

The door swings open and Emma’s standing there in a dress, red and tight, hugging her curves in a way he cannot believe for his own eyes. For a few moments he thinks he’s made a fool of himself.  _ Bugger off, Killian, you’re here for her son _ , his mind reprimands.

 

“Well, you look all prepared for your night,” he comments. It’s not much of a way to start a conversation, but say it as it may, he may as well compliment her.

 

She crosses her arms. “My friend doesn’t approve otherwise,” she responds. “So I have no choice but to make myself look attractive.”

 

“I mean, love, you don’t need to  _ make _ yourself look attractive…you’re already quite a natural.”

 

And he hates himself. Of course, his entire plan to get close to her was exactly to flirt with her, make himself seem like a pompous arse, but he’s not making it seem subtle.

 

(But, hey, he’s actually being honest. She is beautiful, and  _ he _ needs to stop his thoughts there.)

 

“You’re my neighbour, not my boyfriend,” she grumbles. “Now come in – Henry’s dying to see you.”

 

Shaking his head, he merely chuckles and steps inside. “And why’s that? I’m hardly fun company.”

 

“You know, if you didn’t want to do this –"

 

“No, Emma, it’s quite alright,” he quickly interrupts, “I was merely joking. I’m sure the lad and I can have some fun time.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He nods. “Aye.”

 

Emma seems to inhale a deep breath before she lets it out in one swift go. “Alright, then, suit yourself, Jones.” She turns around and he notices Henry lounging on the couch with a console in his hands. “Nothing illegal,” she tells him, “last thing I need is to find out that my neighbour and son have ended up in a holding cell waiting on bail.”

 

Tilting his head to the side, Killian can’t help but smile. “Well, I’m no criminal,” he says. Which is, truthfully, entirely a lie. He’s a guardian angel, yes, but he’s also been a renowned  _ pirate _ if anything. “So you can trust me not to get into some heinous crimes with your son.”

 

She snorts. “Yeah, well, I still hardly know you,” she begins, going to say goodbye to her son, “so for all I know, you could be a criminal.”

 

“I’m wounded,” he claims.

 

“And you’re weird.”

 

“Now I’m wounded even  _ further _ .”

 

Emma shoots him a look over her shoulder but he grins shamelessly. He doesn’t care all that much, but there’s this vibe that if her son weren’t here, she would have insulted him more. In much more…vulgar terms, perhaps.

 

Killian just watches her say goodbye to her son, her telling him to be a good kid for Killian and not to stay up too late. She’s told him all the details about taking care of Henry, so he’s more than prepared. Sort of.

 

“Okay,” she huffs, ruffling Henry’s hair before returning back toward him. “You should be good.” Glancing at the time on the clock, he follows his line of sight and tilts his head slightly. “I’ve gotta get going if I don’t want to be late,” she says, grabbing her keys, phone, and purse.

 

And don’t blame him if his eyes drift down a bit. They return back up before even he can have the chance to scold himself. “Have fun, Swan,” he tells her.

 

“In my dreams,” she mutters, opening the door. “And oh – uh, your sugar is sitting on the kitchen counter.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re up for this because –"

 

He walks up to her and pushes her out further into the hall. “Go,” he says with a laugh, “and stop stalling me. You have my word that I’m not a criminal, nor am I going to disobey your specific orders, and I’m not particularly fond of going against my word.”

 

It takes her ten seconds to leave, twenty before he closes the door and locks it, thirty before Henry comes bouncing at him and asking him what they’re going to do, and forty before he realizes that he didn’t even fake anything in front of Emma Swan.

 

His brother’s right after all.

 

(It’s just the ‘I can’t tell you I’m your guardian angel’ that’s gnawing at him, still.)

 

&&.

 

“So, Henry,” Killian starts, “how’re you liking the apartment?”

 

“It’s nice,” Henry responds. “I like it. My mom likes it.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Killian smiles, though he’s realized the boy’s not much for talking. At least, not at the moment. “ _ So _ , what do you want to do?”

 

Henry just hums to himself for a bit, staring off into space. “Oh! It’s, well…today is actually Mom’s birthday.” The lad licks his lips. “We can bake a cake for her? She never likes to celebrate her birthday, never makes a big deal about it, so I can never do much for her.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, he actually doesn’t think that’s so bad of an idea. His original plan is out the window.

 

_ Out with the old, in with the new _ , he thinks.  _ I think that’s the saying. _

 

“Well, I suppose we’ve got ourselves a cake to bake.”

 

&&

 

It turns out, neither of them have the faintest idea how to bake a cake. Luckily, there’s the internet. They, of course, do not have all the ingredients for a cake, so he decides it’s time to head to the nearest store and find themselves all the right things.

 

Honestly, he can’t be any gladder that he can just  _ poof _ money out of thin air. Not that he does that on the basis, but just for this occasion. To indulge Henry in this little journey of theirs.  _ Operation Hammerhead _ , Henry calls it.

 

(“Why Hammerhead?”

 

“I don’t know,” he answers with a shrug. “I like sharks?”)

 

The moment they get all the ingredients they need, double checking the list they brought, he checks all the stuff out before they’re making their way home. Emma told him  _ not _ , very specifically, to do exactly what he’s doing now. He’s not keeping his word like he said, but he’s only doing this for her anyway, so the last thing he hopes to hear out of her mouth are complaints. Her son is rather thoughtful, a good trait, if any.

 

Once they’re back, it’s more unfortunate than expected. They lack the ability to mix proper batter without making a mess of the kitchen. If he could, he would just flick his wrist and clean things up, but the last thing he needs is for Henry to be questioning his existence.

 

If Henry questions, then it leads to asking or telling his mother all about it, and Killian  _ really _ doesn’t want that to happen right now. He’s finally got himself on track with being her guardian angel, the last thing he needs is to screw himself over.

 

For him, he can be more of a chef than a baker. He’s absolutely a much better cook than he probably should be, but living on his own, he needs to cook. It’s not like he wants to use his magic carelessly to give himself food. That’s not the type of code he lives by, after all. The least he can do is honour that part of himself and do things the right way. If Killian abuses his powers, he doesn’t exactly want to face the wrath of the Council. They’re not going to forgive him and give him a third chance at things, no matter how forgiving they claim they are.

 

“Can you preheat the oven?”

 

Killian snaps out of his thoughts. “Pardon me, lad?”

 

“Preheat the oven,” Henry repeats, mindlessly tasting the batter. “If anything’s a good sign, this doesn’t taste too bad.”

 

Turning the knob on the oven, Killian simply chuckles before shuffling to lean against the counter. “Hopefully it doesn’t taste too bad once it actually turns into a cake.”

 

Henry scrunches his nose up and wipes his finger on a wet cloth they’ve been using for cleaning up the counter. “Can you pour it?”

 

“Aye, I can.”

 

&&.

 

It’s become a waiting game.  _ Almost _ time, though. 

 

The kitchen is cleaned, every utensil back where it once belonged, all the ingredients placed in cupboards or the fridge…except for the frosting. Yet, Henry seems just about worn out.

 

Killian glances at the time and realizes it’s almost his set bedtime.

 

“Henry,” he calls, “go get ready for bed. Your mum will be home in an hour.”

 

“But –“

 

Killian huffs, shaking his head. “ _ Go _ ,” he reiterates, “the last thing I need is getting onto your mother’s bad side when I just started to get to know her.”

 

The boy purses his lips and just nods, heading down the hall and into his bedroom to change. It doesn’t take long before he hears the padding of feet and the door close, which he assumes is him in the washroom. Killian, on the other hand, goes to sit down on the couch in the living room and relax himself for a bit.

 

After an evening of baking, he’s not so much as exhausted as intrigued by the idea of how much this boy loves his mother. Killian only knows, from what the Council said, that she’s guarded. With the lack of a love life, from what he can tell, he can only figure that something from her past prevents her from anything now. It’s like him, a bit. He can tell she’s an orphan, though. He has the same look in his eyes, ones he’s recognized when looking in the mirror.

 

It’s a good thing that Henry isn’t a lost little boy. He’s a good kid, better than he was, anyway.

 

_ Do not grow attached _ , Killian reminds himself. It takes him a few moments to regain his composure after that thought, inhaling and exhaling heavily before hearing the 

footsteps once again, return to him.

 

“The cake should be ready.”

 

Tilting his head back, he stretches his arms over his head and nods. “Don’t touch the oven,” Killian states. “Can’t have you burning yourself.”

 

Then he stands, heading back into the kitchen and grabbing an oven mitt to slip on. With his left hand, he opens the oven, seeing the cake has formed its shape. He then pulls it out and set it down on the counter.

 

They have to wait a bit for it to cool down, but when it’s done, the fun comes in.

 

“Ready to decorate?”

 

Henry grins. “Yeah!”

 

It takes them half an hour to get the frosting done, and it looks…moderate enough. If that’s the right term to describe it. Killian knows Emma won’t care though. She seems to  love her son quite a bit and the entire idea of him baking a cake for her birthday is probably enough to set her heart aflame. He wishes he had Henry’s spirit as a child, but then again, he didn’t have parents then, so doing these types of things wouldn’t have worked out. Plus, baking was a lot harder in the olden days.

 

Once the last of the frosting has been put away or thrown out (they highly doubt they’ll be baking again anytime soon), he grabs the card Henry picked out and lets the boy  write his message in it before propping it up beside the cake on the kitchen counter.

 

“Alright, now it’s time to really go to bed.”

 

“How will I see her reaction?”

 

“Okay, don’t  _ actually _ go to bed,” Killian corrects. “Can you feign sleep?”

 

Henry’s not paying attention, his excitement masking his exhaustion. “What?”

 

“Can you feign sleep?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Henry answers with a nod.

 

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth before making up his mind. “Go do that,” Killian says, “then you can sneak out after she’s checked up on you - if she checks up  on you - and come to talk to me. I suppose I can guide her into the kitchen and you can surprise her.”

 

“Yes!” Henry drawls. “Operation Hammerhead will be a success. I know it.”

 

Killian’s not entirely certain if Henry will really be able to fake his sleep. He may just end up passing out from exhaustion. It’s already 9:12 and his bedtime, for the weekend, is 9:30. Though perhaps the adrenaline running through him at the idea of his mom coming home to this surprise is enough to keep him fueled until then.

 

Shaking his head lightly, he ushers Henry to bed, telling him to listen carefully. “Leave your door open a crack,” he instructs.

 

&&.

 

Lounging on their couch is all he can really do until Emma comes home. Luckily, she doesn’t return much later than ten minutes after he sent Henry off to fake his slumber.

 

“Hey,” she says when she walks in, toeing her heels off with a wave of relief, he can tell. “Henry’s in bed?”

 

“Aye, asleep, too. I think.” He’s telling the truth, after all. It’s not like Killian  _ really _ knows whether or not Henry’s fallen asleep or not. “Sent him off ten minutes ago, or so. He’s exhausted from our day of shenanigans. And  _ no _ , nothing fairly considered ‘illegal.’”

 

Emma eyes him for a moment. He catches sight of the small box in her hand and he wonders what souvenir she’s brought back from the party. She sets her keys and purse on the table by the door.

 

“Anyway,” he begins, “enough about Henry and I. What about your night? Did you have a pleasant time at this party?”

 

She laughs, shaking her head. “It was fine. Tiring, but fine.”

 

“Bring back a snack, did you?”

 

“This?” Her eyebrows raise. “Uh, yeah.”

 

Killian narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. “Willing to share with a lad?”

 

Emma laughs again (sounds like a nervous, defensive laugh if he has any say to it), but shakes her head. “You should be going. Thank you for taking care of Henry, though.” Obviously she’s deflecting the question, but he doesn’t push any further. He’s already gotten on her good side by looking after her son, so this isn’t his place to be prying for information. It may be a snack, but she’s no specifically telling him what exactly it is and for what purpose. It’s nothing significant, really, so he doesn’t even bother thinking about it, not for now. Nodding, he simply stands up, spotting Henry peeking from the hallway with a smile.

 

“Ah, that’s right,” he suddenly starts, “my sugar.”

 

Luring her into the kitchen is all he really needs to do before grabbing the jar of sugar and hearing the sharp inhale of a breath from behind him.

 

Then it’s all just Henry shouting at his mother about his birthday and Killian smiles from his place in the kitchen, watching the exchange between the two. The small box has been discarded onto the kitchen counter and she’s taken Henry into her arms, hugging him tightly as if he’s her lifeline.

 

If Killian can understand anything, he figures that boy almost  _ is _ her lifeline.

 

This payoff, just to see, is worth more than anything else. The dread he felt earlier at the idea of babysitting her son is long gone. Operation Hammerhead is a success, after all. Perhaps he could gleam some of that faith and hope from Henry. Lord knows Killian needs to have some more faith and hope in things. It’s certainly not a bad message to take away from today’s adventure of theirs (and if he’s being selfish, he wouldn’t mind spending more time like this with him).

 

_ Don’t get attached _ , repeats the same voice in his head. God, he bloody well  _ hates _ the idea of not growing attached.

 

“Thank you, Henry,” Emma says, “and uh...you, too, Killian.”

 

Quirking an eyebrow up, he chuckles and shakes his head. “Was nothing, really. It was all Henry’s idea.” Licking his lips, he heads past the both of them. “Though I should take my leave now. Happy birthday, Swan,” he says, then looking at Henry. “Good night, lad.”

 

And with a wink, he heads toward the door.

 

&&.

 

Of course returning back to his own apartment on his floor doesn’t equate to privacy. His brother is there, spread out on his couch.

 

“You had quite a night with Emma’s son,” Liam immediately says when he enters.

 

Killian shuts the door behind him slipping out of his shoes and aligning them where he likes it. “Aye,” he merely responds, rolling his shoulders out and yawning. “Why are you here?”

 

“Just checking on you.”

 

“Like usual, brother?”

 

Liam laughs a little. “You know me.”

 

The sound of his brother laughing is still something he has to get used to. After many years without him, he didn’t think he could ever find him again, yet now he has him back.

 

“Well, you must be here to tell me something otherwise than simply checking up on me.” Killian tugs a glass out from his cupboards and fills it with water, drinking some of it before heading back to the living room. “Another ulterior motive? Trying to convince me to come to some dinner? Having some deep, dark secrets to admit?”

 

His brother simply scoffs, shaking his head. “Definitely none of those.”

 

“Then…”

 

“Just reminding you there are rules -”

 

Killian just groans, sinking deeper into his couch and resting his water on the arm of the couch. “Look, Liam, I know you mean for the best, but I’m quite aware of the rules. I’ve been reminding myself of them all day.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Liam huffs, “I’ll back down. I just –“

 

“‘Want the best for you.’ Yes, I know,” Killian says with a faint smile. “I appreciate it, I do.”

 

“Okay.” Liam stands up. “I guess I’ll be going then.”

 

Killian nods. “Have a good night, brother.”

 

“And you, too.”

 

&&.

 

Later that night, he climbs into bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Baking is definitely  _ not _ his thing at all.

 

Just as he’s about to fall asleep, the image of Emma with that little box in hand comes back to mind. He still has no clue what exactly was in that box, but he sure is still curious.  _ Food _ , his mind says,  _ probably just some leftovers from the party _ . Except, then another part of him still tells him that it’s got to be more than just food. She doesn’t seem like the type to just randomly bring back a snack.

 

“Bloody hell, Jones, shut your mind off,” he mutters to himself, taking his spare pillow and covering his face with it as he inhales a faint scent of rum that still lingers from his previous habits (to be fair, he’s aware it’s still a habit he has yet to break). It’s certainly a surprise he has managed to not drink himself to oblivion recently.

 

By the time he does fall asleep, it’s already later than intended.

 

&&.

 

Morning comes and goes easily. He spends his morning making himself a decent breakfast (for once), and watches some early morning news but also the weather. It seems like it’ll be a rainy day, if anything, so he’s not going anywhere.

 

Though Killian, he likes the rain. Life back in the day on a ship proved that rain wasn’t his favourite, but times change. There’s something about the patter of droplets against the window and the feeling of refreshing air it brings out after a heavy storm. The concrete below his feet that are damp instead of consistently dry like on hot summer days. He tends to be a bit more productive on the rainy days, even if it’s not some big project. Some reading, napping, and the inevitable thinking about life.

 

(To be fair, he thinks about life  _ a lot _ more than necessary, it’s probably unhealthy to brood and think so much. His brain just doesn’t have a nice ‘turn off’ button.)

 

(He wants one, though).

 

Now that he has an actual job, he has to actually do that, too. Which, of course, makes him groan at the thought, but he’s a curious lad and he’s certainly got the eyes on Emma Swan. Not romantically - no bloody fucking way - but he’s got to keep an eye on her all the time. Or most of the time, considering he never actually keeps an eye on her 24/7. The job of a guardian angel is so much work, he’s tempted to call a quits, but he’s been told by his brother on multiple occasions that he’s never been a quitter. And with the guilt sitting behind his heart waiting to claw itself in if he does give up...he’s not sure he can do that and let down the brother he’s built his own life on. He’s not sure that he can just disappoint him that way (or himself, for that matter).

 

That’s where his mind is leading him, too. He’s had guilt rip him apart before, had the guilt turn into pure darkness and throw him into a life of villainy, and he’s loathe to let that happen again. Killian knows it’s tempting to take, but he cannot possibly do that now. He can’t revert back to his old ways.

 

_ That _ thought makes him shiver.

 

(He’s not a good man.)

 

The knocks at his door jolt him out of his deep thoughts. Killian lifts his head from the arm of his couch and heaves a sigh. No one comes to visit him often. Liam has made that a bit of his own habit to check in on his younger brother, but that’s not really...routine. Typically not, at least.

 

He pushes himself off of the couch, running his hand through his hair a little to just smooth it out, but his bedhead likes to stake its claim sometimes for hours.

 

Killian unlocks the door and then pulls it open, expecting something nonsensical waiting for him, but he finds Emma Swan at his step, looking more jittery than ever. That piques his interest, even if that sounds rude. He doesn’t speak, not wanting to scare what seems like a worrying woman. He simply steps aside and nods, letting her in.

 

“What would you do if someone from your past came back?”

 

That seems all too sudden of a question (and odd). His eyebrows raise but then fall to pinch together. “Come again, Swan?”

 

“You know -” she starts, only stopping herself. “Like, if someone you tried to... _ forget _ came back?”

 

“Ah, well -” he clears his throat and then shrugs, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to her, “- tell them to bugger off?”

 

Emma’s face contorts into a grimace that lingers and she shakes her head. “Never mind. I hardly know you, I shouldn’t have come to you for help,” she says, turning back toward the door and walking past him. “Uhm. Thanks, anyway,” she mumbles as she tugs the door open.

 

“Wait, Emma -”

 

The door closes on him before he can finish what he has to say. And he’s not expecting it, but he’s feeling something like...worry bubbling inside of him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

For the next few days, he doesn’t hear so much of a word from Emma.

 

Henry, though, well, _that’s_ an entirely different situation.

“My Mom’s all sad.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“I don’t know,” the kid mutters, “she won’t tell me. She just brushes it off. I mean, she looks happy but I can tell she’s not.”

 

The boy is perceptive, that’s for sure. Killian only has that little idea of why she’s unhappy. _Someone you tried to forget_. Someone _she’s_ tried to forget has come back, or somehow has shown up in her life, and she’s nowhere near prepared herself for that return.

 

Well, he gets the feeling. He’s had plenty of past encounters with people he wishes he could just merely forget, but that’s the thing with the human brain. Sometimes forgetting just isn’t an option. Sometimes they’re just _burned_ into your brain instead, just stuck there for the rest of your life. Killian knows that feeling. In fact, it’s a feeling that has probably become his best (hated) friend in the world.

 

Inhaling a deep breath, he exhales it back out slowly. “Give her some time, then. And if anything, lad, you shouldn’t even _be_ here. At my place.”

 

“Mom won’t know.”

 

“Your mother knows all, Henry.”

 

“ _Ugh_ , you both treat me like I’m ten.”

 

Killian’s eyebrow raises up in response to that, slightly amused. “You are ten.”

 

“Okay, you have a point,” Henry concedes. “But I’m more mature than I look!”

 

“If you’re so mature, my boy, you better get back up to your floor before your mother comes banging on my door and blaming me for stealing you away.”

 

“ _You_ let me in,” he reminds him, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

 

“Guilty as charged,” Killian sing-songs, waving his hand in a graceful manner, following behind Henry as he heads to the door. “Just be patient with your mum.”

 

Henry sighs. “It’s hard to be patient.”

 

“Alas, that’s why it’s such a virtue.” He opens the door for Henry, letting him step out.

 

Henry doesn’t go just yet, though. He turns around and looks up at him and there’s a determined, yet somewhat resigned look on his face. “I don’t like seeing her sad,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet. “I don’t like...not helping. You understand me, right?”

 

As much as he wants to deny Henry of that, he knows he can’t. Killian’s job is to help in the first place, and from his encounter with Emma a few days ago late into the evening, he’s even more regretful that he can hardly do much. To her, he’s still a stranger, it seems. He thought, for a while, they were already friends. Or at the least acquaintances. However, the likelihood of all that has been thrown out the window as she’s claimed the fact that she hardly knows him.

 

He can’t be her confidant yet, and that’s understandable.

 

Still, waiting on the sidelines hasn’t ever been the most pleasant thing in the world.

 

Trust is a difficult thing for her, he’s learned the hard way. Although he was originally told that, experiencing the lack of trust first hand really does open up his eyes. She’s a hard nut to crack. Killian’s not going to give up now, though. As little progress as he has made, he’s very much made enough that’s telling him he has to _try_. He’s going to be patient with her. He’s pretty much immortal anyway, so he’s got plenty of years left in him to wait.

 

“I do,” he assures the boy. “But, sometimes, you’ve ought to let a person come into terms with their own thoughts before you can help.” Killian’s trying to word it so it makes sense. He may be ten and claim to be mature, but the boy still has so much to learn in this lifetime of his. There’s pain in this world, more than he can probably imagine at his young age. “So, let her do just that.”

 

Henry sighs. “Okay, I’ll be patient.”

 

Killian shoots the lad a smile and then rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder before pushing him to go down the hall to the elevator. “Now go. Do your homework and whatever else you’ve possibly got to get done from school.”

 

&&.

 

Although he can spy on her all he wants to, that’s bad form. He has all this magic in the world, and it’s just...it’s tempting, really, to just take advantage of it, but he’s learned to control his urges. To settle them back to where they belong. He’s not going to spy on Emma and her son. He’s not going to break any trust that has been established between them.

 

He looks out the window, the cars occasionally driving down the road. He’s glad he lives on the quieter side of Boston (somewhat).

 

It surprises him for the most part that he’s now rather close friends with Henry. If he’s getting anywhere, that’s a good place to start. Henry seems to like him, comes to him for help, and that’s enough for him. That’s, technically speaking, all he needs out of the boy. And Killian, he knows he’s not attached to him.

Just friends.

 

Watching cars isn’t much of a pastime activity, he realizes. Killian turns around, hand rubbing the back of his neck, his feet taking him to his bedroom so he can change. Whenever he opens his closet up or pulls a drawer out, he notices how lacking his wardrobe is in colour. It’s entirely of navy blues, blacks, and greys. He honestly needs to go shopping some day and a grab a couple of other colours. Maybe lighter blues and whites.

 

Though if he knows anything about himself, he’s just going to put it off for the next four months until someone comes to bother him about it. And if anyone, it’s going to be Liam. Or Emma, if she happens to become closer friends and notices his lack of colour in clothing choices. Not that he cares _that_ much given the fact that he likes dark colours. It suits him well - it’s his sort of style, he supposes.

 

He huffs a breath at the thoughts roaming his mind and shakes his head, reaching in and tugging his black sweater out and dark washed jeans.

 

Later. He’ll go shopping later.

 

(See?)

 

&&.

 

He hasn’t seen Emma for, well, an entire total of seven days. A week! It’s been a bloody week since he’s seen her at all. Henry, more like two days, but that boy’s got a rebellious side to him that Killian can relate to. Except, Henry’s a much better lad than he was at his age.

 

However, of all places, he runs into Emma Swan down in the laundry room.

 

It’s just the two of them, which makes it awkward but...less awkward. The tension, he cannot believe, is heavy between them. He didn’t expect it at first, but now that he stands here, sorting out clothes to throw into the washing machine, he recognizes that the heavy silence between them is a tad uncomfortable. He’s certainly not complaining, though. He can see she’s okay, in some sense or another.

 

And he doesn’t even want to speak because he’s afraid of scaring her away. It’s been seven days and he can’t just muck it all up again (even though he supposes he didn’t muck it up in the first place - it’s not his fault, not really).

 

Except, now he’s just really tired of the silence. The unspoken things (if there even _are_ any) between them.

 

“Swan -”

 

“If you’re going to talk to me about what happened the other day -”

 

“No,” he quickly refutes, shaking his head and pausing what he’s doing. “I’m...well, I frankly don’t need to pry into your business. I just - well - are you alright?” He sounds like a blubbering fool. Like a teenage boy pining after a girl in high school and incapable of speaking to her. Except he’s not a teenage boy, nor is he pining after a girl in high school. The incapable of speaking to her is a bit applicable, though.

 

She sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“You know you’re terrible at lying, love.”

 

“Yeah, well.”

 

He quirks an eyebrow up, but she doesn’t go anywhere with that train of thought. He lets the topic drop, just for now at least, and goes back to throwing clothes into the machine. Once he’s done, he puts in his detergent, closes the lid, spins the knob a full circle, and glances his way back at her.

Emma has stopped what she’s doing, picking at some of her clothes as if they’re already ripped apart and she’s debating whether to throw it out or not.

 

God, from what he’s discovered, she’s learned to build herself up so strong, to defend herself from every threat, yet he can tell she’s vulnerable. Her vulnerability isn’t a weakness to him, but others may think so. And whoever has come back from her past...well, it’s serious. He can only take a wild guess and say it’s the man who may be Henry’s father, but that’s just a prediction at best. Likely, but still a prediction.

 

“I have been told I’m a rather good listener,” he says quietly, leaving her an open offer.

 

Emma flashes him the smallest smile and shakes her head, finishing her own share of chucking clothes in. She continues on, getting her machine going, and looks at him once more. “I’ll keep that in mind, Killian,” she responds. “I’ll see you later?”

 

He swallows and nods. “Aye. Take care, Swan.” It’s all the words he manages to let out as she disappears out of the laundry room.

 

There was something in the way she said his name. A tender tone to her voice that brings back memories of a person from his own past who still haunts him occasionally.

 

 _Bloody fucking hell, get yourself together_ , Killian scolds himself as an internal thought.

 

&&.

 

Stepping into his apartment, he nudges the door closed behind him with his elbow as he carries his empty basket back into the washroom.

 

While he’s told himself to get composed again, her gentle voice of _Killian_ still rings in his ears, through his mind, and echoes just a tad louder again.

 

Killian cards his hand through his hair a few times rather frantically. It’s bothering him. _She’s_ bothering him. He’s only known her for like two weeks, and he’s already gone ahead and gotten himself somehow stupidly involved with her. He’s not attached, Killian is very much _not_ attached, but the way his name fell from her lips won’t leave him alone.

 

He still prays for a “turn off” button in his head. It would be delightful by this point.

 

He closes his eyes and all of a sudden, he’s in another dimension. Too much light and optimism and happiness, as usual, but he’s been getting used to it slowly.

 

The first step is probably having a little more of the curtains being tugged open on the occasion. He’s got to thank Liam for that. He has lived his life in darkness for so long, light really doesn’t hurt - he’s learned already.

 

It’ll still be a habit to keep the curtains drawn closed on most days, but he’ll get there gradually.

God, he forgot. Everything is white and yellow up here. To think that white and yellow are honestly constantly associated with good, pureness, and innocence. Killian rubs at his eyes and then walks about. It’s a surprise to see that this upper world is much like earth itself. Just constantly a bright and happy place instead. Less pain, less hurt, less loss and abandonment. He wishes he could have been here before. He hopes, that somewhere, his mother his here and that his father is at the depths of hell.

 

Killian strolls a little further, seeing small children. It hurts him to think that these _kids_ are here already - but they’re happy, it appears.

 

A little further, he reaches a park. There’s grass and trees and birds. This is the opposite of where he’s been in his lifetime. This is definitely the exact opposite of the Underworld. Killian feels the obnoxious feeling of shivers running down his spine at the thought of the Underworld. This place is the epitome of perfection. He wishes it wasn’t.

 

(He wishes.

 

Selfishly.)

 

Unfortunately, there’s not many bars up above. Taverns, definitely not. It’s still the twenty-first century and taverns have long gone extinct in this world.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

He rolls his eyes at the voice. “Liam.”

 

“It’s not often I catch you up here,” his brother says with a smile. “Or ever, really.”

 

“I know,” Killian sighs, “I’ve just needed to clear my head.”

 

That’s hardly an excuse. He usually clears his head by staying in darkness, not in light.

 

“Something weighing heavily on your shoulders, I can tell.”

 

Killian presses his lips into a thin line, his tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his feet. Well, at least the ground won’t blind him. It’s just the green grass. “Yeah,” he says quietly, shoving his hands into his sweater pockets. “Unfortunately reminiscent today.”

 

Liam’s arm wraps around his brother’s shoulders. “Would you like to talk about it?”

 

He scoffs, shaking his head as he tilts his head up to look at his brother. “Not really, Liam,” he mumbles. “Something best to kept in my past. As a distant memory.”

 

“Sometimes the best way to put it behind you is to talk about it.”

 

“Yes, but...” He swallows thickly. “Not today.”

 

“Alright,” Liam concedes. “You do know I’m here for you, aye, little brother?”

 

Killian smiles gratefully at his brother, bobbing his head in a small nod. “It’s _younger_ brother, and aye, I know. I appreciate it.”

 

Sometimes he feels like he fluctuates between his emotions too easily. It’s happened ever since he came up here, to be this damn angel. He’s not an angel, for God’s sake, he’s _not_ , but he’s got to do his brother proud. Got to do his mother proud, wherever she is.

 

(And a part of him begs him to keep Emma and her son safe.)

 

If he closes his eyes, he can just...imagine his mum. Imagine her soothing voice singing to him and her hand brush back hair from his forehead. He loves his mother, he always will, and he wishes he got more time with her. That _she_ got more time.

 

Sometimes, he also compares himself to his father. He shouldn’t, yet he does. It’s impossible to avoid, he’s learned. The heavy burden that the man put on both sons aren’t forgotten. Liam seems to have moved quite past it, to let it be - as anything he says - left in the past, but Killian has trouble with that. He’s got trouble just letting things _be_.

 

“Liam?”

 

“Yes?”

 

For a second, he second-doubts himself, but he asks anyway. “Where do you think our Mum is?”

Watching his brother, he notices Liam hesitate, his mouth opening, closing, and then curling into a gentle smile. “Somewhere better than here, Killian.”

 

“Better than _here_?” It seems unlikely to him.

 

“Yeah. Somewhere better, brother.”

 

Even though it’s for a few moments, he’s willing to believe.

 

&&.

 

When he returns back to his apartment, he’s feeling a little better. Of course, his mother is not the person he thinks of when he hears Emma’s voice say his name in that _way_ , but it’s a nice thought, he guesses. Odd, of course. No way can he compare his mother to Emma, but then he sees the way she is with her boy and thinks about himself being in Henry’s position and his own mother.

And he thinks - just thinks - he can relate.

 

_It’s a beautiful afternoon. That’s all he knows how to describe it. The sun is shining brightly, the clouds are floating by slowly, the sky is a bright shade of blue, and the wind is merely a calm breeze._

 

_He loves days like these. Sometimes, the air is fresh enough that he can smell the sea. He thinks about his father returning from his latest trip. “Six days’ time, my boys,” he remembers his father saying with a smile. Killian also recalls his father saying he’d bring back a souvenir of some sorts if he can._

_Killian is only at the wee age of seven and Liam is eleven. His brother is a pain in the butt, but he loves him, nonetheless._

 

_“Mum!” he shouts, running to her._

 

_She’s covered in dirt. Of course, she loves to garden. He loves it when she brings in flowers and puts them into one of those vases._

 

 _“Hello, Killian,” she says with a laugh, a laugh that’s so full of warmth and_ love _._

 

_“Are you bringing flowers in today?” Killian asks excitedly._

 

_She smiles at him, looking at the flowers she’s plucked out. “Yes, I indeed am,” she responds, “here.” She picks one up and holds it out for him. “Smell it.”_

 

_He wiggles his nose a bit and then leans in, inhaling the scent of the violent plant. The floral smell...he likes it. Not as much as he loves the smell of salt and the sea, but he still likes the smell of flowers._

_“Does it smell nice?”_

 

_Killian grins up at his mother and nods enthusiastically. “What is it called, Mum?” he questions curiously._

 

_“Ever the wondering one, aren’t you?” She picks up the few more she has. “They’re called lavenders, my curious boy.”_

 

&&.

 

While he moves on from thinking about his mother so much, she still lingers around in his thoughts for the next few days. He checks in on Emma, too, but since he never predicts anything that could go wrong in the foreseeable future, he doesn’t really communicate much with her.

 

At least until he realizes he’s the one out of sugar.

 

And good old Killian Jones decides that he’ll pull the ‘I’m your neighbour, lend me some sugar’ card.

(Even though she’s five entire floors above him, which probably doesn’t constitute much as being his neighbour at all.)

 

&&.

 

He hardly takes his time heading up the five flights of stairs.

 

When he’s at her door, he knocks and then patiently waits. And with his astute sense of hearing, he can hear the shuffling of feet, then the sound of the lock unlocking.

 

“Swan,” he greets with a smile.

 

“Jones,” she responds with a curt nod. “What’re you doing here? Did Henry invite you over or something?”

 

Killian raises a brow and shakes his head. “No, no. I figured instead of going to my elderly neighbours - who mind you, always seem so cranky - I’d come to you for a favour.” It seems he’s gathered her attention. “And _since_ I did happen to babysit Henry -”

 

“That was like two weeks ago.”

 

“- I would like you to pay me back by borrowing your sugar.”

 

“ _Seriously_? You’re not willing to go to your grumpy elderly neighbours for _sugar_?”

 

He grins. “What can I say, love? I do love to bother you for some company.”

 

“Mom!”

 

Killian peeks over her shoulder and waves at Henry, who brightens up and waves back. “Hello, lad.”

“Honestly, if you’re asking me, Jones, you’re wasting your favour on something pointless,” she mutters, turning around and walking away from the door.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Swan,” he responds. Killian looks down at Henry and smiles. “Been doing your homework?”

 

Henry grimaces. “Let’s not discuss school. How about you stay for dinner? Mom’s making her best spaghetti tonight.”

 

Emma returns just then with sugar in hand before he can even consider responding to Henry’s offer. He highly doubts Emma would allow him such a thing. He’s still got to get to know her better, that’s for certain.

 

“Mom,” Henry starts, “can Killian stay for dinner?”

 

“What? Kid, I’m sure Killian’s got his own stuff to do.”

 

“But, _Mom_ ,” the lad whines. “He helped me make your birthday cake, remember?”

 

“Which you didn’t need to make since I brought home my own cupcake in the first place.”

 

 _Ah_ , he thinks, _that’s what was in the box_. Her own little cupcake.

 

Henry frowns. It must’ve struck a spot in the boy’s heart to hear that. Though he knows she’s thankful for her son’s efforts, she clearly doesn’t enjoy making a big deal out of her birthday whatsoever.

 

“Fine,” he mutters. “Bye, Killian,” he adds on before turning around and (supposedly) storming off to his room.

 

Killian finds this amusing, but he’s also a tad concerned for Henry. He appears to be genuinely upset, and from Emma can tell, she’s not so happy at herself over what she said.

 

Killian clears his throat and then scratches behind his ear. “Well...would it hurt that much to have my company tonight?”

 

She turns her head to look at him, glaring at him. Though he’s nothing but persistent and stubborn, too, and he has a faint smirk on his lips.

 

“Do you think that’ll solve the problem?”

 

He merely shrugs. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there, love?”

 

&&.

 

In the end, he stays for dinner.

 

It’s a decent meal, but he’s had better before. Considering she’s just a single mom who works all the time, he’s not one to judge cooking abilities. At least he’s here.

 

In fact, it’s even better than his initial reason of being here. He no longer needs to borrow sugar given he’s landed himself a seat at the dining table in Emma’s apartment. And now that he sits there, sipping on water, he notices the sparse amount of decorations there are.

 

Not sentimental, he gathers.

 

Another thing they have in common, it seems.

 

Henry seems to ease up during the meal, at least, and now he’s openly talking to him a lot more. Killian converses with the boy some more, though Emma seems to be pretty quiet on her end. He supposes she has a reason. She doesn’t want to open her mouth and say something stupid that’ll throw them back to where they were about an hour ago. Or maybe that’s just his own opinion, but he would probably be thinking that had he pissed the lad off.

 

Killian stays for a lot longer than just dinner, but only on Emma’s watch. He asks her for permission, of course, and she just nods in response. Just because he’s a gentleman by heart, he does all the dishes for them, and besides, it’s only fair in etiquette.

 

The uncharacteristically quiet side of her makes him wonder what goes on in that lovely head of hers. And more often than not, his eyes drift over to look at her.

 

By Henry’s bedtime, he groans but doesn’t complain any further, just saying goodnight to Killian and making his way to his room.

 

“Well, I suppose I should take my leave now,” he declares.

 

“Wait.”

 

Killian pauses where he’s standing, looking back at Emma with a curious expression. “Decided you want this dashing man to stay the night?”

 

She snorts. “Definitely not.” Emma looks away from his eyes and then back. “But...ah...when you said you were a good listener. Is that offer still up?”

 

Instead of saying anything snarky in return, he lets out a soft breath and then nods. “Aye, I’m still willing.”

 

Perhaps now he’ll know what’s been bothering her all evening.

 

&&.

 

“I’m not going to bore you with any details,” she says quietly, nursing her own cup of hot cocoa.

It’s not the winter season, but he tucks the idea of her liking hot cocoa aside in case he ever needs to cheer her up somehow. He knows that for the next while, however long he ends up being her guardian angel for, there are going to be rough patches ahead.

 

Life isn’t perfect.

 

Well, not unless your life is up in the heavens.

 

“But, like I said that one time. Someone from my past is...sort of _back_ , and I’ve been trying to forget them for a long time now. I don’t want to associate myself with them.”

 

And he knows that, by not ‘boring him with these details’ means not having dive deep into specifics when they’re friendship has only been less than a month. He just hums softly and nods, paying attention to everything she says attentively.  Whatever she means by ‘sort of’ hardly helps him identify the problem, but whoever it is, it’s putting an entire dent in her life as she’s confused and struggling to get a grip on how to handle this situation of hers.

 

Pursing his lips, he thinks a bit. “Has said person attempted to communicate with you?”

 

Emma hesitates to answer.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ah.” He rubs his chin in between his index finger and thumb. “Well, have you been direct with them?”

“You see -” she swallows, noticing her neck move, but his eyes drift back up to her eyes, “- I’m not really good with words.”

 

Killian pinches his brows together. “You couldn’t have just said ‘no, I’m not interested in establishing connections with you’ to them?”

 

She shakes her head and he groans softly, leaning his head back on the couch. This woman is going to be the death of him already. She’s doesn’t have a tick for communication, then. Unfortunately, that might prove to be a bit of a problem.

 

“Then what _did_ you do?”

 

“Slam the door in their face?”

 

He groans a little more obviously this time and rubs his forehead. “I’m glad that you didn’t do the same with me back then when I first got to know you,” he mutters.

 

“I mean, I don’t _hate_ you, so that’s something.”

 

“Well, I’m certainly relieved that you don’t want to throw me out and slam the door in my face.”

“You’re not going to be forgetting that anytime soon, are you?” Emma asked, glaring at him over the edge of her mug.

 

He just shook his head lightly. Well, he certainly finds this amusing that she couldn’t say no and just ended up physically shutting this person out.

 

“Look, I had one more point.”

 

Intrigued by whatever else she has to say, he listens carefully.

 

“I just want to thank you.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “There’s little you’ve ought to thank me for, I believe.”

 

Emma sets her mug down on the coffee table and turns a little. “Well, Henry would disagree. He talks about you all the time, did you know? I mean, we’ve only talked a few times, and had, uh, awkward moments, but still. You’ve done me some great favours.”

 

“And here I thought you were terrible with words.”

 

She scrunches her nose up at that, as if telling him to shut up and let her speak. So he does.

 

“Anyway, I’m just...glad to have you as a neighbour. And...friend.”

 

He widens his eyes at that admission. _Friends_. That’s bloody well _great_ progress for him and great to hear in general.

 

He’s been thinking about how awful of a job he’s been doing as her guardian angel, but this sounds like he’s been doing...okay. Right?

 

Emma inhales a deep breath. “And it’s nice to see Henry have a positive male influence in his life.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say positive,” he teases with a small smile.

 

They both laugh at that, quietly. Henry must be asleep by this point, it’s nearing midnight the more they talk. And they talk quite a bit more.

 

There’s nothing in particular they talk about for long.

 

Favourite movies, colours, books. It’s like one of those get-to-know-you sessions. Or whatever they’re called. Killian has no idea, but he’s enjoying himself at the moment.

 

When the clock does strike midnight, he realizes he should get going.

 

“I should probably go now,” he says sheepishly. “Apologies for keeping you up for so long. I bet you’ve got a perp to chase tomorrow.”

 

“How do you know I’m in bailbonds?”

 

“Ah -” he panics for a moment, “- Henry...he mentioned it carelessly once.”

 

She sighs and nods. “Of course,” she mumbles. Emma just shrugs. “Anyway, it was...nice to have a person to listen and talk to.”

 

“I told -”

 

“Shut up,” she grumbles, shaking her head.

 

Killian merely grins at he and stands, heading over to the door and slipping his shoes back on. “It was lovely spending some time with you, Emma.”

 

She smiles at him and nods. “I’ll see you later.”

 

“Good night, Swan,” he murmurs, just as he pulls the door open and leaves.

 

 _Don’t get attached_.

 

He might be getting there, and he’s going to run head into a train if he continues to get closer to those train tracks.

 

(Though a part of him tells him it’s okay.

 

A part of him says he’s making some wrong choices.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, reviews, etc. etc. would be great!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for missing yesterday's update. i was out and then by the time i was home, i was tired and didn't want to do anything. hope this chapter may clear up any questions and is entertaining and sufficient for the lateness!

 

Killian never knew trying to locate his brother would be so bloody difficult. He could very much just go to the King and ask, but even he’s not daft enough to go bother King George and ask about something like that. Who’s going to listen to an orphan boy searching for his elder brother that was kidnapped by _his_ Highness’ Royal Navy? It sounds like he’s been brainwashed.

 

Life without Liam has been hard in its own way. He misses his brother dearly, so intensely, that some nights, it’s impossible for him to sleep. He stays up and drinks rum, a habit of his that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere soon. In fact, it’s growing on him. The burn of his selected poison is satisfying - just enough of it and he can wake up the next morning not remembering what happened, though that comes with the sacrifice of a pounding headache the moment he rises from wherever he passes out.

 

It’s certainly an upgrade, though, from the cot he once slept in to the Captain’s cabin.

 

And it’s even better that he gets to split the shares of money they manage to make through trade. He’s not stupid anymore to gamble away things, at least. The crew has grown just slightly, enough men aboard so they can all help with sailing this old ship.

 

To be honest, he’s still hardly captain material. God, if Liam were here, he’d be the Captain. He’d be a much better one than his younger brother.

 

When he wakes, it’s not to a very pleasant reason. It’s far too early in the morning and there’s a Navy ship approaching them. Surely to see if they’re smuggling things across different kingdoms, but there’s nothing he needs to be afraid of. Just to be cautious, though, he slides his sword to where it usually rests on the holster on his hip and makes his way to the upper deck. And just like that, there’s a ship flying the Royal Navy’s flag. King George’s, no doubt. He can recognize that flag anywhere now as he’s been looking out for it ever since the day he lost his brother.

 

Killian has his arms crossed over his chest, just as someone brings him his spyglass. He only briefly thanks them before he uses it, checking the amount of men on that deck.

 

There’s more men on theirs than his own ship here, of course. He sighs, pocketing the nearly broken spyglass and promptly rubs his forehead. “We won’t attack unless they prove to be hostile. We’ve nothing to hide, anyway.”

 

It is the mercenaries who evades the law, the pirates, and fugitives who are the ones to be taken by the Navy. _Typically_ , at least. He’s not sure what to expect now.

 

Just as the Navy ship is closer, they’re shouting to hold their spot.

 

Killian clenches his jaw in anticipation.

 

But, oh, but _then_ he notices something.

 

It’s Liam, standing on the ship giving out commands. He’s on that Navy ship. Killian’s eyes widen and he presses himself against the starboard side of the ship, his hands pressing heavily against the wood as he peers over. “Liam? Liam! Bloody hell, Liam is that you?”

 

When the figure that is supposedly Liam pauses and turns to look, he knows for a fact it’s his brother.

 

&&.

 

Killian runs up, hugging his elder brother tightly. _Finally_ , he thinks, _after an entire year, finally!_

 

Liam lets out a grunt but then laughs, wrapping his own arms around.

 

He doesn’t want to let go. God, he had been so lost for that entire year. He had only one goal the entire time - to find his brother. Killian doesn’t know how he managed, but he did because now he’s here with his brother. He’s safe again, brothers reunited after a rather...unfortunate separation.

 

“Killian,” his brother sighs, pulling back, but a hand resting on his back. “You’re alive.”

 

“Ah - aye.” Killian nods, still trying to believe that his brother was right _here_. “You - _you’re_ alive.”

 

They’re both grinning like fools, sure, but he’s been waiting for this day for a year, now. A little more than a year to be exact, but it’s been a year.

 

“You’re -” he glances around the fine vessel of a ship, “- a captain of the Royal Navy?”

 

Liam nods. “Aye. After I was taken away, the King had granted me my request of joining the Navy. I had to work through the ranks, but apparently everyone’s been impressed and I managed to get to it rather quickly. Ever since, I’ve been on missions - far from here - but I’ve been keeping an eye out for you, too, no matter how much it seemed like it was impossible.”

 

Killian is still feeling that same bliss from earlier flood through his veins, pumping so much excitement and contentment into him. “I’ve been looking for you all year round,” he admits quietly. “I’ve missed you, brother. And look at that -” he laughs some more, “- you’re worthy of being a captain. I bet your men respect you greatly.”

 

“I’d hope so,” he said quietly. “But, what do you say, little brother? Join me?”

 

&&.

 

He dedicates himself to studying in the Royal Navy. There’s a lot of pressure on his shoulders, but he doesn’t even notice that as he devotes himself to being the best sailor possible. There’s no more rum, and no more fighting.

 

Nights are spent reading and reading, then multiples pages in a journal full of writing. It’s notes. He learns new languages, new techniques. He battles endlessly with a sword, sparring until his wrist hurts and his arms are sore. Killian undergoes new experiences he can’t possible forget.

 

(Many nights, he doesn’t go to sleep willingly. He falls asleep at a desk in his small study cabin, face stuck to a page of his journal, a candle still melting closely. Liam’s the one to jostle him awake gently and urge him to sleep in bed so he doesn’t wake up with a crick in his neck (a bit late).)

 

He wants to make Liam proud, and this is the one way he can do that. And one day, maybe he can become a captain, a finer one than before.

 

They both seek honour, after all.

 

&&.

 

While it certainly takes him essentially a year to get there, he becomes a Lieutenant of the Royal Navy...and under Liam’s command, too.

 

The Jewel of the Realm is the fastest ship in all of the kingdom’s in this world. Killian has never been on a better ship with a better captain before.

 

“You ready for our mission, Lieutenant?”

 

Killian looks at his brother, straightening his posture, both hands behind his back and chin tilted upward just a tad bit. “Aye, Captain.”

 

Liam grins, shouting for the men to get ready to set sail before turning back to him. “Good,” he responds, “because we’re going on quite an adventure.”

 

&&.

 

They arrive at an island that has yet to have men set foot on it. He’s beyond excited to find new places that have been unexplored yet. Liam demands for his crew to stay put and keep the Jewel in place as he and the Lieutenant take a longboat onto shore.

 

It takes the both of them some while to be able to row their ways to shore, but they make it.

 

“What’s the plant we’re to be searching for, brother?” Killian asks, stepping out of the boat.

 

Without the crew around, he can address him as he usually would. Whenever he’s around others, he’s ought to say ‘captain’ and ‘sir.’ There cannot be any lack of respect upon that as it’s frowned upon.

 

Liam unravels a roll of paper. “Dreamshade. It’s said one drop of this plant can heal _thousands_.”

 

It sounds...unbelievable. Unlikely, if anything. Though he’s now learned to question less. “Any idea where we start searching -”

 

“You two seem lost.”

 

Both of them jump to attention, drawing their swords out and holding it straight ahead.

 

Killian swallows, assessing the person standing in front of them. He appears almost to be a boy. “This place is said to be uninhabited,” he says slowly, “so who are you?”

 

“Uninhabited?” The figure laughs. “I’m Pan. I’ve lived here - oh, let’s see - most of my life.”

 

He clenches his jaw. His brother, however, speaks up.

 

“We don’t want any trouble, we’re merely searching for a plant.” Liam holds out the paper to show.

 

“Dreamshade?” Pan questions with a raise of his eyebrow. “What an odd request. Who exactly sent you?”

 

“Our King,” Liam responds. “Now, do you know where it is or not?”

 

Pan shakes his head. “King? We have no Kings in Neverland. Just me. Besides, that plant won’t _heal_ as you think it does. It kills.”

 

Killian clenches his jaw even tighter, starting to doubt the mission. He knows he shouldn’t, but who’s to doubt the person who’s lived on this island their entire life? It only makes sense to take what Pan is saying to heart. To be logical about all of this instead of jumping head in.

 

He lowers his sword just slightly and looks at Liam. “What if he’s right, brother?”

 

“No need to fear,” Liam reassures him. “He’s speaking nonsense.”

 

“Uh, hello, I’m _right_ here,” Pan says.

 

He swallows thickly, glancing between Pan and Liam. “But -”

 

“Lieutenant, we are not doubting the King we serve under,” he states with the tone of authority.

 

Instead of fighting back, he settles and just nods, even though he doesn’t agree. Being obedient is all he can do now. He should trust the King. Trust his brother.

 

Liam lowers his sword a bit, too. “Can you take us to it?”

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Magic comes with a price, after all.”

 

&&.

 

The appearance of the plant looks prickly enough. Dangerous, if anything. Killian is still doubting, and before his brother can possibly do anything rash, he tries once more.

 

“Liam, what if it really is poison? _Lethal_ poison?”

 

“Stop being so ridiculous,” Liam immediately responds, rolling his sleeves up. “Let me prove to you it’s not poisonous.”

 

Maybe his brother _is_ right. Maybe he’s just being too bloody paranoid too see past the fact that Pan had been taunting them. He simply watches as Liam cuts a piece of the plant and then scrapes it over his forearm.

 

“See?”

 

For a moment, he believes, but then Liam is tumbling, tripping over his steps, and Killian immediately runs to his brother’s side, softening the fall as they lower to the ground. Frantically, she shakes Liam. “No, brother, bloody hell, Liam!” he says, the tears already burning his eyes and threatening to fall. God _damn it_ , he can’t lose Liam for a second time - and for good, this time, he can’t. “Liam, come on,” he says, voice cracking as he shakes his brother.

 

“I told you,” Pan’s voice rings.

 

Killian sharply turns his head, looking up at Pan. “Please, there’s got to be an antidote,” he begs Pan, his hands shaking as he holds Liam against his thighs. It must be an uncomfortable position for his brother, but he doesn’t care. There _has_ to be a way to save him.

 

Pan tuts, shaking his head as he walks a little closer. “Sorry lads. Seems like your brother asked for his death when he didn’t heed either of our warnings,” he says with a casual shrug. “Pity.”

 

“No, _no_ ,” he mutters, looking down at Liam.  “Liam, you can’t leave me,” he says. And he says it, over and over until he can’t hear himself utter the words any further.

 

He begs Pan once more, but he insists there isn’t a solution to this. In just a blink of an eye, Pan is gone, and Killian’s left to himself with his brother. _Dying_ brother.

 

“Liam,” he whispers, his hand resting on his brother’s chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Liam croaks (so _weak_ , God he sounds so weak), “Killian.”

 

“I can’t lose you.” Killian hiccups as the tears begin to really stream down his face. “Not again, Liam, please don’t let me lose you again. Not like mother and father - _please_.”

 

He opens his mouth, wanting to pray, wanting to do something, bring Pan back and beg him some more, but the words don’t come. They fall empty on his tongue as he just holds Liam closely, his breathing ragged and his heart racing. His head is muddled with thoughts. The feeling of loneliness already begins to settle in his heart, deep in his gut, as Liam’s breathing slows.

 

Even though he’s holding onto his brother, his only best friend, his only family, his hands are shaking. He shakes his head in denial, refusing to believe any of this is true. He thinks he’ll wake up from a bad dream and there’ll be Liam trying to comfort him like on the many nights he’s had terrible nightmares. Except, when he opens his eyes, it’s not, and Liam’s officially gone, his heart having stopped, his breathing no longer there, either, and Killian’s heart drops to the floor.

 

No, it drops lower than that. It’s drowned to the bottom of the sea. A part of him is gone forever.

 

&&.

 

There’s no energy. He has no motivation as he tiredly manages to carry his brother back to the boat and row them back to the Jewel.

 

He avoids most eye contact with the crew. Everyone goes silent the moment his body is brought up. Killian can’t even bring himself to look at his brother anymore. He’s gone. For real, this time. Maybe if he doesn’t look, things will go back to normal.

 

&&.

 

Just after leaving Neverland, they sail a little more, no where in particular.

 

Killian goes to bed angry and sad all the same. To be fair, he doesn’t sleep at all that night. He just lays in bed, staring up at the wood of the Jewel, and thinks about where he’s going now. The King did lie to them. Sent them on a suicide mission that ended up with his own beloved brother dead. Every time _dead_ comes up, he has to clench his eyes shut so tight until it hurts, until he can only see stars behind his eyes and not the limp body of the man he looked up to so much, the man he idolized for all of his life.

 

But, oh, does he dream. He dreams so hard that by morning, his brother will come knocking and drag him out of his cabin.

 

Though that doesn’t happen. When the sun finally rises past the horizon and one of the men come knocking at his door, claiming they’re ready for the ceremony, Killian just mumbles his acknowledgement in response and tries to steel himself for the moment. And he figures he successfully does.

 

He’s wearing his uniform as he stands in the centre of the ship, watching them dump his brother’s body (at least he’s in a sack), into the sea. He’s sure his brother would have wanted a burial at sea. It’s only fair since the sea runs in their blood.

 

 _You’ll never leave my side, brother_ , he thinks as he hears the splash.

 

After a while more, he angrily sheds the Navy jacket, throwing it into the sea.

 

“We are sworn to serve the King and the realm.” His voice is so _tired_. “They sent us to retrieve an unthinkable poison, one that killed our dear Captain...” Killian swallows thickly after he’s climbed one of the ropes, making sure every one of the crew can see him. “Never again shall we take such orders serving the King, fighting _his_ wars! That is the way of dishonour! And all you who disagree, flee now or walk the bloody plank! For those who stay will be free men, and I will your Captain.”

 

He’s started quite the ruckus now. Everyone seems to agree, though. _You were a fine Captain, Liam_ , he thinks, seeing how all these men gather along with him and don’t deny him the speech he gives loudly. There’s not one ship within miles of them.

 

Killian talks quite a bit more.

 

“They took my brother from me, and now I’m gonna take everything they’ve got, starting with this ship! We no longer sail by the Jewel of the Realm,” he declares, “we now sail as the Jolly Roger!”

 

He tells one of the men to grab the paints below deck.

 

 _The Jolly Roger_.

 

“And when they come for us, I want them to know exactly what we are.” He looks among the men. “Pirates!”

 

Not one false statement has been made. Everything he’s declared among the men, _his_ men, are absolutely true. They will be pirates and no one will have control over them. They will not serve under a corrupt monarch. They will all be _free men_.

 

&&.

 

The next time they reach port, they invest in barrels of rum.

 

And Killian reverts back to his drinking habits faster than he could have thought.

 

&&.

 

Liam never knew what death would feel like. Until, well, he died.

 

And he’s not entirely certain it’s suppose to feel so _blissful_.

 

It feels like he’s waking up from a century year old sleep. He has to peel his eyes open as if it’s a struggle, and the light, oh, the light blinds him greatly. There’s a figure, a shadow approaching him, and though he’s grateful for the presence of that, he lifts his hand up, blocking the light as he slowly lets his eyes adjust otherwise, and notes it’s merely a man. Somewhat old, but not much of an elderly man.

 

“Liam Jones,” he says.

 

Liam swallows, slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position and then to standing. It feels weird to be standing on his feet. It’s as if he hasn’t used them in so long.

 

“Aye,” he responds, “that’s me.” He drops his hand eventually, looking around. There’s faint images of places, happy people and all. “Am I - I’m dead, aren’t I?”

 

The man laughs. “You are, in some way. It’s hard to explain now that I think you’re rather stubborn, but you’ve been ‘resurrected.’ That’s the only way I can possibly explain in simple terms.”

 

“Resurrected? Am I going to live once again?” His hopes are high that he’ll be able to see his brother again. Oh _God_ , Killian. _He must be devastated_. He visibly frowns at the thought, his frown then pressing to a straight line as he looks up at the man.

 

“Not yet.” The intriguing man clasps his hand behind his back. “You see, there are angels and demons in this world. Not as terrible as you may perceive them, but they _do_ exist.” He nods his head toward Liam. “You are an angel. Fallen, in any case, but you are an angel.”

 

Liam doesn’t believe this. _I’m an angel?_ he thinks to himself.

 

“Saints...sinners...you’ve heard before. You’re an angel - a saint.”

 

Swallowing is just an attempt to get the lump in the back of his throat away, but he’s still confused. All of this sounds so far-fetched, but is it really by now? “Alright,” he sighs out slowly. Hesitantly. “Is everybody categorized into saints and sinners? Or angels and demons?”

 

The man smiles, shaking his head. “No,” he answers, “definitely not.”

 

“Then what of -” he points, “- all those people?”

 

He looks around, smile still lingering. “They’re just people who truly belong up here. Like you. Those of honour, those who do true good.”

 

Then he wonders about Killian. If he’s up here, then what of his little brother? His last words had just been him admitting he was sorry. Pathetically. While he is glad, to some extent, that he’s up in Gods’ above heaven, he’s not really happy. Liam looks down at his feet after a while.

 

“And you wonder what of your brother.”

 

Liam lifts his head. “Aye, I do.”

 

“He...” The mysterious man, who’s all knowing of this nonsense (or not entirely nonsense), hesitates to speak. “He is not as fortunate as you.”

 

Furrowing his brows, he shakes his head.  “What do you mean not as fortunate as me?”

 

Instead of getting an answer, he gestures for Liam to follow, which he does. “Come. We’ll go on a bit of a walk and I’ll try to answer what questions you have.”

 

&&.

 

He’s aware that the man is trying to break this news to him subtly. Or, well, politely. And all he can think about is his brother not being anywhere near him. Not being a ‘saint.’ Liam is still having a difficult time believing this - he is a bloody _angel_.

 

“I don’t mean to...be rude, but wasn’t your brother an accident?”

 

Liam clenches his jaw at that. The man isn’t wrong.

 

“Yes,” he grunts, “but what’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“Well, for starters, it’s a way for me to lead into what I’ve got to say.” The man inhales a deep breath, then letting it out slowly. “Typically speaking, those who aren’t angels -”

 

“Devils.”

 

“- yes, those. Sometimes they aren’t meant to truly be born.”

 

His eyes widen as he understands what the man is trying to tell him. Subtle or not, it’s blunt enough for him to understand that he’s rather frustrated with the thought. “So, you’re saying...”

 

“Yes.”

 

“My brother’s a devil. A sinner.” He stops walking, staring blankly ahead of him. It’s sunny up here, a beautiful recreation of the world below. “Killian is a sinner. Born one.”

 

“And he’ll be one. For centuries.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lifespans for devils and angels, even if they’re human, are rather long, you see.” The man turns around and then looks up, his hands still behind his back. Liam stares at the back of the man’s head in disbelief. However, it’s not all. “You would have lived as long as he, had you not managed to die the way you did. The mythology of us being inherently immortal isn’t entirely false, although it’s not entirely accurate either. We were created that way.”

 

“So...”

 

The man sighs, turning to look back at him. “Immortality works oddly. You _can_ be immortal down there, but since you ended your life with a deadly poison, the immortality thing was rejected. While you may live for many centuries, something that reaches your heart like poison is more inevitable.”

 

“So you’re essentially telling me I’m a special one given the fact I ended up dying far too early from an idiotic mistake.”

 

“Well -” he clears his throat, “- if you prefer to be as blunt as that, then yes.”

 

“Bloody well great to know, mate,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. “But my brother. Does that mean he’ll live a life of darkness? He’s already fought so much of it before.”

 

He gets a small smile in return. “Fate can only determine so much, Liam Jones.”

 

&&.

 

Killian spends late nights drinking himself to oblivion. Especially on days where the memory of his brother grows fairly unbearable. He’ll lock himself in the Captain’s quarters, drinking and drinking until he’s slumped in his chair. This room reminds him far too much of his brother, but he’s got no choice but to sleep here anyway. He’s not going to thwart his way back tot he old quarters with other men.

 

The first night after turning to pirates, he had kicked at the chairs and the table, at the edge of the bed. It definitely hurt, but the pain was quickly numbed by the far more painful memories.

 

Now he spends his time running his fingers over the spines of books Liam once read. He spends his time flipping through old journals. He traces his finger along the spyglass his brother had gotten him as a gift from one of their old travels, or over the words scribbled over with fine penmanship over the papers in the journals.

 

Recovery, as he’s realized, takes a lot of time. It’s a gut-wrenching pain to bear at the thought of his brother really being gone from this world. As much as he keeps his brother’s memory in his heart, it’s never really _enough_. It’s become more of a habit for him to spend time sulking about. He’s no longer the old Killian Jones. He continues his own way of good honour and form, continues to treat his men in a relatively fair fashion as Liam once did, but none of that is ever going to be enough to replace his brother.

 

Ships are pillaged entirely and then they plunder all the gold and resources they can get. They trade, on the occasion as well. They restock at many different docks. There’s never staying behind in any place for long.

 

They’re young. They’re inexperienced as pirates, but from what he knows, he’s not going to be going anywhere soon from this new role. Being a pirate is so freeing. He doesn’t need to be a straight-laced Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He doesn’t need to obey the rules of any upper-class men. He doesn’t need to complete tasks he once needed to on a daily basis because of who he was.

 

He was _free_. And freedom, that was all he could ask for now. Killian couldn’t ask for Liam back, but he could ask for freedom.


End file.
